


The Obsidian Asset

by zombified_queer



Category: Dirty Harry (Movies), Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alien Biology, Anal Sex, Cardassian Culture, Elim Garak is (not) an Obsidian Order agent, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Oral Sex, Scorpio is an Augment, The Obsidian Order, Violence, vaguely canon compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-14
Updated: 2020-01-18
Packaged: 2020-10-18 03:54:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 14
Words: 21,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20632661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zombified_queer/pseuds/zombified_queer
Summary: Charlie Davis is dangerous. Elim Garak can smell it on the young man as clearly as cheap cologne. But whatever chaos Charlie might bring to Deep Space Nine, Garak is willing to endure, for both Charlie's sake and the sake of the Obsidian Order.





	1. Chapter 1

Elim Garak finished up some last-minute chores around the shop: a bit of cleaning, putting away all his tools, giving the ledgers another look before he officially closed for the day. He paused and adjusted one of the shop mannequins, the figure dressed in obsidian-dark silks. Just a habit.

And then he closed for the day. No need to overexert himself before the rush of Gratitude Festival work. It was such a profitable ceremony for everyone on the station.

In a mood for relaxation, Garak made his way to Quark's. Some nights, Julian would be there playing darts and Garak could watch his perfect form without guilt. Some nights, they'd drunkenly debate literature until Quark made them leave.

No Julian tonight. But there was that chemical-laden taste-scent of Augment in the air.

Garak thought the blonde man, the Augment, at the bar looked jumpier than Quark at tax time. The stranger held his glass with both hands, something only the very anxious or those who really needed a drink did. 

Garak watched the man drain his glass, then reach for a bottle (didn't Terrans call it a "fifth"? The Cardassian wondered a fifth of what exactly) to pour another. Garak's liver ached in sympathy.

At his usual place, Morn noticed the Terran and seemed to share Garak's sentiment. Morn caught Garak's stare, nodded curtly, and turned to the Bajoran dabo girl apathetically stirring her cocktail next to him. The Lurian launched into a long-winded story and Garak felt grateful he wasn't her.

Still, the stranger was handsome. Blonde curls fell around his face like a veil, blue eyes darted quick and untrusting around Quark’s. He couldn't be older than Julian, no more than thirty. Part of Garak doubted he was old enough to drink that fifth.

And what was the harm in socializing, Garak thought. Julian might be jealous in his own boyish way, but he was busy. Julian was always busy.

So Garak stepped up to the bar, ordered a glass of kanar, and asked, "What are you drinking? I'm not familiar with human liquors."

The stranger turned his head, wild blonde curls whipped around his face. He studied Garak for a moment with malice, suspicion, even fear.

Garak took the opportunity to admire the myriad of bruises, the purples and blues rimmed with yellow. The patchwork of hues amalgamated around the stranger’s nose, the deep navy blue epicenter of injury. The stranger had a crude bandage over his nose, tempting Garak to peel it back.

Garak doubted the stranger’s nose was set right. The break was recent and the Cardassian thought he could fix it, though it would hurt.

“Whiskey.” The stranger’s voice melted into his glass as he brought it to his lips. 

“Whiskey,” Garak repeated. He drained his own glass, kanar thick down the back of his throat. 

Garak set the empty glass on the bar and waved Quark off when the Ferengi tried to refill it. Garak watched the stranger refill his own glass with amber Terran whiskey. The man could drink.

“Only Ferengi seem to have Seagram’s anymore.”

“At the right price,” Garak amended. 

The stranger glared at Garak. In a flick of the wrist, the Augment's glass was empty again. "Right."

“You look like a man in need of something strong,” Garak purred. “I know just the thing. You won’t find it in any Ferengi bar.”

“I don’t know you.”

“And I don’t know you,” Garak answered, already imagining the look on Julian’s face. Really, it was the doctor’s own fault. “But, if you want to frisk me, keep it discreet.”

The stranger perked up, face brightened, eyes bluer than Starfleet medical uniforms. “I don’t frisk. I strip search.”

“Then I suppose,” Garak murmured, leaning almost imperceptibly closer, “we’d better go somewhere more accommodating.”

“You live here?” The stranger grabbed the bottle of whiskey by the neck and shook his head until blond hair veiled his face again. 

“I do,” Garak answered, paying for his own drink, plus finder’s fee, plus tip. “Follow me.”

They made it to the turbolift before the stranger’s lips were on Garak’s neck ridges, sucking painfully in that intimate, Terran way. Garak’s fingers dug into the stranger’s hip, bordering on bruising. The blonde stranger yelped, but eased up, lips pressed to the ridges almost apologetically. 

The stranger reeked of liquor and blood as he ground his hips against Garak’s. The Cardassian imagined Odo’s disapproval and the fine.

“Not here,” Garak said. “I’m not as flexible as I used to be.”

"Pity." The stranger went back to sucking on Garak's neck ridges. 

When the turbolift reached the habitat ring, Garak felt relief. The lift was too cramped and the stranger pressed too close. 

The hallways were blissfully dark and empty, but Garak shivered. Terrans always kept the station too cold. The stranger didn't seem to mind. Garak wondered, briefly, what material his clothes were made of.

But the stranger seemed more impatient than anything. He drank from his bottle of Seagram's and watched Garak unlock his quarters. 

Once inside, the stranger made himself at home. He took another pull of whiskey straight from the bottle and set it down on the coffee table. Without any prompting, the stranger knelt, unlacing his boots before he kicked them off. 

He stood, looked over his shoulder, and asked, "Bedroom?"

"This way," Garak said, stepping into the bedroom.

The stranger followed and shrugged, perhaps at the sparseness of the room. He stripped out of his dark jumpsuit, revealing more bruises over his torso, though with more yellow over his ribs. When the stranger stripped out of his trousers, Garak stared at the scar—brutal, jagged, and cruel—just above the left knee. 

"Quite an exciting life," Garak noted.

The blonde stranger stood lean and naked and stared at Garak. But something changed in those bright blue eyes, a dark hunger rose to the surface. The stranger fumbled with the fastenings of Garak's tunic, swearing under his breath.

That impatience cemented it. The stranger was younger than Garak, certainly, and probably younger than Julian.

"Lay down dear," Garak chided. "I'm more than capable of undressing myself."

The stranger, to Garak's surprise, laid his bruised body down on the bed. One hand cradled the back of that blonde head and the Augment's other hand trailed down his chest, over his hips, and followed the curve of his thigh, down to his cock. He watched as Garak undressed, the Cardassian setting his clothes and shoes neatly by the bed. The stranger spat into his hand and stroked his cock slowly.

"You've got a cunt," the stranger observed, blue eyes fixed on Garak's groin.

"You've never been with a Cardassian," Garak answered simply.

The stranger blinked. His hand stopped. But then he went back to masturbating. Garak pulled a bottle of lubricant out of the nightstand drawer. Before Garak could say anything, the stranger took the bottle and drizzled it over his cock, fisting it. Garak watched, delighted, and everted with a hiss. 

"My, that's a big one," the stranger cried. 

Garak chuckled. "By Cardassian standards, I am entirely plain and simple."

The stranger, assured, fingered himself and groaned. 

"Simply superb," Garak murmured as he joined the Augment in bed and tried to hide how his hands fumbled with his own cock.

The stranger kept working himself open. The bruises over his ribs appeared grey in the low light, Garak noticed. 

The Augment snapped his head in Garak's direction. "You gonna just watch?"

"Of course not."

The stranger wrapped his lean legs around Garak's hips. He took Garak to the hilt, his nails tried to dig into the thick hide and tough scales of the Cardassian's thighs. Before Garak could ask, the stranger rocked his hips, fucked himself. 

Garak didn't kiss the stranger. Instead, he marked the blonde’s throat with deep bruises, bit at his collarbones. And then he moved his hips.

They were locked in agreement, the mutual, impersonal need to scratch an itch. Garak thrust in, made the stranger moan, and the stranger greeted Garak with his own warm Terran body, blonde curls splayed out over the sheets. 

The stranger arched his back, all bruises and tense strings of muscle about to snap in climax while his eyes rolled in his skull. He clawed at Garak as he sought something to hold onto. Garak hissed that low, dark sound of carnality.

The stranger stroked his cock again, groaned loudly, and came in ropes of pearls. 

And that did it for Garak, the Cardassian relished in the explosive force of pleasure that whited out his vision, the way his limbs trembled in orgasm.

After just seconds of panting, they pulled away. The stranger pushed Garak away, got out of bed, and headed to the bathroom. Garak, sluggish, laid down in bed, taste-scenting the stranger (all whiskey and, underneath that, some familiar chemical taste of genetic augmentation, all mingled with sugary-sour Terran cherries) and the thick, sweetness of sex on the sheets. 

The hum of the sonic shower lulled him into an easy, though light, dozing.


	2. Chapter 2

Some small noise woke Garak. A cough, maybe, or the rustle of the sheets when he knew he hadn't moved. Without giving any indication he'd heard it, Garak slowly reached into the space between the headboard and the mattress. His fingers closed around the cool body of the disruptor pistol he hid there.

He turned over slowly and opened his eyes just enough to detect a threat. Garak adjusted to the dark of his quarters. A figure stood by the bed. Garak scented the air, tongue flicking outward so quick it wouldn’t be seen by anyone who didn’t know to look for it.. 

Not a Cardassian by Garak’s bed. Terran. An Augmented Terran. His bedfellow from the night before. But overlooking risk because the Augment was handsome could be a fatal mistake. Garak held the disruptor firmly in his hand and switched off the safety.

In the dark, the figure froze. He’d heard the click of the safety switch. Of course he’d heard it, Garak reprimanded himself, he’s an Augment.

"Stop right there," Garak said, disruptor aimed on the figure.

"Shit." The figure fumbled in the dark. Garak tasted metal and the sharpness of electricity. "Who the fuck are you, anyway?"

"Name," Garak demanded, disruptor pistol trained on the figure. 

"I asked you first."

"I could vapourize you before you could blink," Garak hissed. "Your name."

The Augment didn't say anything. Garak saw him fumble in the dark to zip up his jumpsuit with a pistol in hand. Clearly one of the “mutants” like Jack and his gang of Augments. Pity.

"I won't ask again," Garak said.

"Davis," the stranger answered, voice tinged with rage at losing the upper hand. "Charlie Davis."

"Garak," the Cardassian answered in kind. "Just plain, simple Garak."

"Garak." Charlie set his pistol on the nightstand to finish dressing. "Good fuck."

The Terran took his pistol and shoved it into one of his pockets. And then Charlie Davis was gone. 

Garak put his disruptor away and laid in the dark, scenting the air with flicks of his tongue. Charlie’s scent lingered in the air, clung to the sheets, but his warmth were long gone. 

Garak buried himself in blankets, sated and exhausted.

* * *

He didn't expect to see Charlie again. Deep Space Nine was like that: a place to scratch an itch, a place to shop, a place to disappear since they were so close to the Demilitarized Zone and the Wormhole. 

Garak tried to imagine Charlie on some Gamma Quadrant planet, fighting Jem’Hadar for survival. He could do it, Garak knew. Augments were strange creatures, weapons of the past still useful with the rust washed off. 

Either way, Charlie was gone where Garak would never see him again. So Garak buried himself in his shop and tried not to ruminate. After all, it was just a quick affair, meaningless. 

He resumed his book club with Julian, but it seemed so bland, so safe. Julian shot him once, sure, but it wasn’t the sort of danger Garak craved. Where Charlie had been something wild, Julian was a housecat content to roll right over at the slightest whiff of treats. 

But, while signing for bolts of Andorian silk and Diné wool, Garak caught sight of a familiar figure, blonde curls tossed in the lights outside the lower level of Quark's. Garak rushed his signatures and took the cloth into the backroom of the shop. Then he closed for lunch.

* * *

Same blonde Terran, same bottle of Seagram’s whiskey, same Ferengi bartender. Morn only cemented the familiarity, settled on his usual stool but chatting away to a Vulcan instead, who looked like he'd rather be anywhere else. It seemed laid out for Garak’s Cardassian comfort in repetition. Garak laughed to himself, grateful. 

"You're still here," Garak noted. He nodded at Quark for the regular glass of kanar. "I expected you to be on a transport halfway to Andoria by now. It’s lovely this time of year with the aurora."

"Fuck Andoria." Charlie's voice dripped with rage. “Too cold.”

"Orion, then," Garak suggested as he set latinum on the bar while Quark set a glass of thick kanar down. "I've heard good things about their pleasure dens."

"Can we go back to your place?" Charlie seemed fed up with the suggestions.

The Cardassian raised a brow-ridge. If Charlie needed a place to hide out, he was looking his prized gift horse in the mouth. Still, he was young and probably inexperienced.

Garak raised his glass in a silent toast, drained it, and said, "But of course."

* * *

Charlie paced like something caged. The bandage was gone, the bruises lighter. There was more yellow to the edges, the rapid recovery all Augments seemed to possess. Garak thought he was unforgivably handsome.

"You should do something about that nose," Garak noted from the armchair. 

"No doctors." Charlie paused dead in his tracks, glared at Garak. “Not again.”

That intrigued Garak. He’d have to ask whether Charlie was an Institute escapee. Not that he’d ever dream of returning him. He licked his lips and said, "Then let me tend to it."

"You can do that?" Charlie hugged himself and stared at Garak with wide blue eyes. “I didn’t think you were a doctor.”

Garak blinked. "I keep a medkit. Being a tailor is dangerous work. I’ve sliced open my hands more times than I care to admit."

"Tailor." Charlie sunk down into the sofa, sprawled out comfortably. 

Garak appreciated the leanness of Charlie’s body, the length of his arms and legs.Perfection. Already, he could guess the Augment’s measurements. 

"Sure." Charlie oozed sarcasm and thorns.

Garak got up and fetched the medkit from the bathroom. A broken nose was nothing. Garak had broken his nose so many times Julian would have concerns. He returned to the living room and set the medkit on the sofa, next to Charlie. 

Charlie turned his head, half-asleep. 

Garak grabbed his chin, hard enough to keep Charlie still, but not hard enough to bruise the Augment all over again. Charlie's eyes closed. The first device hummed as it knit the cartilage together and Charlie's nose straightened out. Another tool cleaned up the bruises over the Terran's face. 

"Do you want me to tend to your ribs?" Garak asked.

But Charlie was already deeply asleep in Garak’s hand. A soft snore escaped Charlie’s lips. 

Garak put away his tools, returned the medkit to its rightful place. He crept into the living room, silent as a shadow, and laid Charlie back on the sofa to rest.

* * *

In the storeroom of his shop, with a warm mug of redleaf tea, Garak began a file with all the standard Obsidian Order encryptions. He started with the phrase _Name: Charlie (Charles?) Davis._

It was the safest place to hide him, Garak thought. The Order could use more hands, these days. It wasn’t as if people were chomping at the bit to send their children to Bamarren. Who would, really? A school in the wilderness frequented with beatings and specialized conditioning? It wasn’t exactly the Lakarian Science Institute or the Cardassian Union Art Universities.

And perhaps Charlie’s danger would come in handy after Pythas conditioned the Augment properly.

Garak sipped his tea and locked the data padd before hiding it in a false bulkhead panel.

* * *

Charlie could almost always be found at Quark's. From the second level, Garak tracked the erratic times Charlie hurried into the bar. Garak disguised it as dressing the mannequins at the front of his shop. Pretty soon, Garak knew three different times Charlie might show up, but those three alternated.

The Terran needed work if he was going to be unfollowable, but Garak always relished in the half-surprise of Charlie as the Terran tossed his blond curls out of his face before ducking inside and out of sight.

* * *

The Cardassian got a list of holoprograms Charlie used. The Augment’s recreation consisted of sexually charged programs or 1970s San Francisco. Not exactly worth the fee from Quark, but Garak paid, if only to keep the Ferengi hush about it. Garak noted Charlie’s recreation proclivities in the Order file.

Garak noted in the file Charlie's lack of training and proposed an accelerated course of programs for the Augment.


	3. Chapter 3

In the dimmest booth at the back of Quark's, Charlie tried to be subtle in how he perched in Garak's lap. Charlie stopped grinding abruptly, his warmth and weight settled, and drank kanar straight from the bottle.

Garak pressed his forehead against Charlie's shoulder, chufa kissed bone under warm skin. "You're an Augment."

At that, Charlie threw himself out of Garak's lap, eyes narrowed dangerously. Charlie hissed, barely above a breath, "Who the fuck told you that?"

"Most Terrans don't have the stamina you do," Garak explained. "You heal faster, too, just like my Augment friend. Plus you reek of modification."

"You know an Augment?" Charlie throttled the kanar bottle clumsily and took a long drink of thick liquor. 

"A doctor."

"They let an Augment practice medicine?" Charlie leaned in conspiratorially.

"They don't know he's an Augment," Garak corrected. "He's a good man. Your opposite in every way."

Charlie leaned back, eye sockets pools of shadow. "What're you talking about?"

"You're running from something." Garak stared at the doors. "No one comes to Quark's regularly but with such odd hours every day unless they're trying not to be followed."

"Family," Charlie said, too quickly to be the truth. "Daddy hates his prodigy boy to be out of his gilded cage. So I took the latinum and ran."

"I see."

Charlie took another drink of kanar. "See you at twenty-three hundred." 

He got up and disappeared into the lunch rush crowd.

* * *

The workload before the Gratitude Festival hit Garak like a rabid sehlat. It was lively, gaudy fabrics and numerous orders all piled up on top of one another. They seemed to multiply and get more ridiculous with each order. But work was work and Garak would be damned if he wasn’t the best at his job.

Charlie picked his way through the completed orders, the brightness of lavender with golden embroidery and the depth of navy blue trimmed with white Betazoid lace. 

"So what the hell are all these orders for?" Charlie asked as he ran fingers over the blouse Garak just finished for Lieutenant Commander Dax.

"Bajoran Gratitude Festival." Garak kept his eyes on his work. "It's an excuse to drink, eat, and sleep around. I heard good thing about the station’s first Gratitude Festival." He paused. Darts. He loathed darts, though twenty-third century tools made them marginally better. "We owe that excitement to Ambassador Troi."

"The Betazoid." Charlie glanced at the fabric in Garak’s hands. 

"Indeed." 

Charlie was quiet for a long while. This was, after all, his first visit to Garak's workplace. The Augment continued staring at Garak’s work.

"I could make you something too," Garak offered, pausing to glance up. "I'm thinking something blue to bring out your eyes."

"I'm broke."

"You're not." Garak returned to his work. "Every Ferengi can smell the latinum on you. Is dabo the only thing your augmentations are good for?"

Charlie scoffed. "Right now? Yeah. They are."

Garak looked up again. "You're going to want something more than the same four jumpsuits. You'll blend into the crowds better if you look alive."

"You think so?" Charlie fiddled with a scarf loosely wrapped around a mannequin. He tightened it, to the point it would strangle any living person.

"I know so."

"How?" Charlie turned his electric gaze on Garak. "You keep pistols in your bed and you know how to blend into crowds. And you can taste—"

"Tasting you is a Cardassian factor, not anything connected to my occupation."

"Who are you?" Charlie asked. "I didn't think an old lizard queen would know so much about how to blend into crowds."

Before Garak could deliver an expert lie, Charlie perked up like a hound. Without a word, the Augment ducked into the backroom of Garak's shop, hidden from anyone who might enter.

"Garak," Captain Sisko greeted, stepping into the shop.

"Ah, Captain." Garak stopped his work entirely, grateful on more than one level for Sisko's entrance. "What can I help you with?"

"I need something for the Gratitude Festival that's not a dress uniform." Sisko's mouth didn't move, but the grin shone in his eyes.

"I understand completely," Garak assured him, breaking into an easy smile. "I assume the Emissary of the Prophets would need something particularly stunning."

While Garak took measurements and talked designs with Sisko, the Cardassian caught the briefest flash of blonde curls from the backroom. Garak held his breath for a moment before the sliver of gold disappeared into the dark, the door closed silently.

"Something wrong, Garak?" Sisko asked.

"Voles, perhaps," Garak said, breaking into a more forced smile. "I'm thinking something with gold embroidery."

"Nothing that gaudy, Elim." Sisko straightened his posture, all Starfleet. "You know me."

"A man of simple comforts." Garak looked the captain over. "Perhaps something in a deep green. A change from that dreadful red you're always wearing."

"I'm trusting you, Elim."

"And it's well-placed," the tailor assured him. "It should be ready within the week."

"Thank you."

Sisko left, but Charlie didn't come out of hiding for a long while. When he finally returned, he stared at Garak intensely. The Cardassian brushed past Charlie to gather up the materials for the captain's clothes. 

"Are you fucking him?" 

"I'm sorry?" Garak hissed. 

"Are you fucking the captain?"

"I don't suck every cock I come across," Garak said, voice smooth and even like steel. "Unlike you."

That seemed to keep the Terran at bay. He looked wounded, unable to hold Garak's glare.

"There's a dark green cotton," Charlie supplied. "Near the back, behind the silks."

"Thank you."

By the time Garak had the bolt of cloth pulled from the back, Charlie was gone. Garak cursed his ability to slip away so easily.

* * *

Charlie, on his knees, seem almost apologetic in the way he sucked Garak's cock. Almost. Garak knew his beautiful boy was too untameable to ever truly apologize for anything.

And whoever taught him about oral sex had to be a Terran.

"You're going about it all wrong." Garak took Charlie's face in both hands, easing his mouth off his cock. "Cardassians aren't built like Terrans."

"I can see that." Charlie traced a finger down the slick, deep purple organ.

Garak shuddered. "I'd suggest a remedial course."

"Starting now?"

"Of course." Garak smiled at Charlie, who seemed so helpless. "I have a feeling you're going to need it."

* * *

The lesson ended when Charlie sprawled himself out on the couch, rocked his hips against Garak's, and fucked himself on the Cardassian's cock. One of Garak's hands cupped the Terran's narrow hip, the other just rested on Charlie's unscaled abdomen.

He was a good distraction, so handsome and lithe. Charlie's bruises had cleared up, leaving his skin an unbroken paleness contrasted against flushed gunmetal scales. 

Garak didn't ask but focused on bruising that soft throat with his teeth, as if he intended to smother all of Charlie's high, pleasured cries. Half the habitat ring could probably hear them. 

"Tell me no one else fucks like this," Charlie demanded as he glared at Garak. "Not even that Augment doctor."

"No one," Garak assured him as his tongue dragged languidly over Charlie's collarbone, "compares to you."

Charlie wrapped his legs around Garak's waist, muscular thighs threatening to snap the Cardassian's spine, and the Terran thrust himself forward violently, forced Garak back, half-propped up on the arm of the sofa.

"I didn't hear you," Charlie growled, sinking down on Garak's cock.

"No one fucks like you."

Charlie rode hard, his hips came down quick and hard, intent on bruising the Cardassian. Every bounce of the hot Terran in his lap stimulated Garak's chuva and made him shudder until all he could do was cling to Charlie.

Garak came first. While he panted and dug his nails into the Terran's slender hips, Charlie laughed.

Charlie leaned in, panting against the ridges of Garak's neck. "Call me Scorpio."

Scorpio, Garak thought as the Terran disappeared and the sonic shower hummed, was the least-fitting moniker for something so boyishly handsome.

* * *

In the backroom of his shop, with a replicated mug of redleaf tea, Garak tried to find every Charlie and Charles Davis born between October twenty-third to November twenty-second. From there, he narrowed the results with blond Terran males between the ages of twenty-one and thirty-five.

He was left with a good twelve thousand or so matches for his Terran enigma. 

Nothing showed up about Augments in any of the results, which was to be expected. The combination of Scorpio and Augments turned up an article about an Augment terrorizing San Francisco. The killer signed ransom notes with a small scorpion and a star.

Garak sighed and opened the encrypted file. To his catalogue, he added "Possible aliases: Scorpio" as well as Charlie's height and weight and an estimate of his measurements. The latter he'd get in more precise numbers.

He considered how best to get Charlie into the shop and if the scar on his left leg counted as an identifying mark. He left it out and decided he'd give Charlie a few days to heal before determining what was identifying in any incriminating way.

Sipping his tea, Garak considered the Andorian silk.

* * *

Garak's unsure what set Charlie off. Maybe it was one of the mood swings he'd only observed from afar. Maybe he brought work home with him too much. Or maybe Charlie saw the way Captain Sisko considered Garak a friend in the loosest terms possible. 

It didn't matter, not when Charlie tore apart the deep green clothes Garak sewed by hand.

And yet Garak simply sat in his armchair and watched. Truly, the Terran was manic. With his augmented strength, Charlie had no problem littering the living room with shreds of fabric. 

Charlie sank to his knees in the middle of it all, glaring up at Garak and panting.

"Are you quite done?" Garak asked.

Charlie said nothing, but lowered his gaze.

Garak stood and, without a word, left his quarters. He didn't need a Terran throwing a tantrum to follow him and, thankfully, Charlie stayed put.

On the turbolift, Garak considered any practical application for this sort of destructive mood. But, as he stepped onto the sparsely populated Promenade, he reminded himself that any behavioural quirks were going to be Pythas’ problem soon enough. 

Despite the late hour, Garak unlocked his shop, though the lights stayed off. Really, he just needed the fabric and his tools to begin again. Though it would take plenty of raktijinos, Garak could meet the deadline he'd given Sisko. 

He thought of Charlie, briefly, the wild blonde Augment in Garak’s quarters. His work certainly wouldn’t be safe with Charlie on a manic episode.

So Garak turned on the barest minimum of light to work by, opened the feeds from bugs he’d planted around the station to catch up on the news, and measured out the fabric all over again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey so I finally installed that thing that formats fics using a script so I don't have to do it by hand. Updates to follow lol.


	4. Chapter 4

Julian leaned over a work in progress, just looking at the pieces of fabric laid out. Garak stopped sewing and raised a brow-ridge.

"Please don't tell me you need something to wear as well," Garak teased. 

Julian stepped into the stop, a welcome face among the vibrant fabrics. Garak smiled, relieved to see his dear friend. 

"Doctor's orders," Julian said, "you're going to put down that device and come grab lunch."

"How forward." 

Garak was grateful to switch off his tools and leave the shop. He did, as a precaution, lock everything down, Charlie's outburst still raw in Garak's mind. Perhaps he really was getting overzealous about taming the Augment.

"So, how're things?" Julian asked as they made the leisurely stroll to the Replimat. The Terran folded his arms behind him, a mimicry of Jadzia. “I assume you’re terribly busy.” 

"Busier than the entire year before this," Garak answered. He watched two Bajorans who passed them and mentally noted they were not Deep Space Nine residents. Not with the way they glared at him. "We’ve had such a number of tourists all in need of new clothes. But, as they say, idle hands do the dissenter's work."

"Devil's," Julian leaned close to correct his friend.

Garak smiled at the subtle banter. The familiarity of it eased Garak, the same way their table (when did he call it their table, he wondered, and did Julian do the same?) eased him back into the routine of things. The scent of Tarkalean tea, sweetened to give anyone over the age of consent on both Terra and Cardassia a toothache, made Garak feel terribly safe.

"Did you hear about that Augment? The one from San Francisco?" Julian leaned in, as if he was telling some grave secret instead of exchanging gossip.

"I might have," Garak said. "Scorpio, wasn't he? And in San Francisco? You'd think it would be more secure."

Julian blinked, hazel eyes wide. For a moment, he chewed the air in his search for words. “You’re not bothered by the fact that there’s a killer built like me on the loose?”

Garak raised a brow-ridge. “I’m afraid not. After all, it’s not like he’s stolen your identity.”

Julian glared at his mug of Tarkalean tea. “No, I suppose he hasn’t. What he has done is reinforce the public opinion of us.”

“If there ever comes a time when you, of all people, wind up without a career,” Garak drawled, gesturing with a fork, “I’ll forge the papers to bring you to Cardassia myself. I’m certain they wouldn’t say no to another doctor, especially one with your skills.”

“Garak.” 

“Doctor,” Garak replied, innocently. He lowered his voice. “Being augmented on Cardassia is no crime. We just don’t flaunt it the way you Terrans like to do. Besides, Captain Sisko and your colleagues, I’m certain, would die to defend your secret from the public at large.”

“Of course.” Julian sipped his tea, staring dangerously at Garak over the rim of the mug. The doctor’s voice was all bitterness. “I’ve heard all about your genetic tampering.”

“It betters the Union when we can provide healthier citizens and fix those nasty genetic conditions us Cardassians are prone to.” Garak shrugged, the same way he did when he made a point about Cardassian culture in literature. “Albinism, for a start. Most albino Cardassians will be blind before they can have their first shed.”

“I didn’t have a condition.” Julian lowered his voice to a hiss. “And I’m certainly no albino Cardassian.”

“True.” Garak reached across the table to pat Julian’s free hand. “But it’s not as if you can undo what’s in your past. And you certainly aren’t at fault for what other people chose for you.”

Julian pulled away and hissed into his mug, “That’s rich, coming from you.”

“You’re just experiencing time from a Cardassian perspective,” Garak soothed, pulling his hand back as if Julian might bite it. “I can appreciate that.”

Garak finished his lunch, for once, quicker than his Terran companion. 

“Do you think I’d turn out fine if I wasn’t...you know?” Julian pondered.

Garak hummed. “Hard to say. I know what you’ve told me and I know there’s Cardassian children who’ve been much the same and woke up one day and asked if they could go outside to play.”

Julian scoffed. “I doubt it’s that simple.”

“What I mean is, you weren’t given time to catch up, if that’s what you needed,” Garak explained. “And if you didn’t need time, then other people are responsible since you couldn’t have ever consented to any medical procedure.”

Julian went quiet, lost deep in thought. Garak returned his tray and stared at Julian for just a moment. The Terran seemed to be a storm encased in itself, ready to break.

Perhaps that was the issue with Terran augmentation: no concern to develop every part of the brain, just one or two for posterity. He scoffed as he left the Replimat. Most everything Terrans seemed to do was steeped in posterity and tradition. How savage. How clumsy.

Things needed sewing and mending. There was still so much he needed to do before closing up for the day. He unlocked the shop and, when Garak went to take up his tools, he was greeted by a folded piece of paper. On the front, his name was scratched in messy ink. Against all better judgement, he picked up the note, unfolded it, and read.

"Garak. Don't be mad at me, please. I get crazy sometimes and go off my head. It’s the augmentations. You know how it is. I'm sorry. Scorpio."

Garak smiled to himself. That took care of a writing sample to add to the Davis folder. And he'd already forgiven Charlie, though he was bitter about the Augment having so little control.

* * *

Garak searched the bedside drawer and found the item he'd spent the evening considering for Charlie's training. The handcuffs had been a gag gift from Julian who, with no knowledge of Garak's hatchday, decided to give him things erratically. The quip about "citizen's arrests" had been delicious coming from Julian.

And there was a silk scarf in Garak's wardrobe for all sorts of purposes. Tonight was just one of its possible uses.

He didn't really anticipate Charlie at any specific time, but he knew the Augment had a penchant for lockpicking. It was the only explanation for all his latinum. Even an Augment couldn't be that lucky at the dabo wheel.

The door slid open and Charlie slunk inside. He reminded Garak of a scolded dog, all pouts and begging eyes. 

"Strip," Garak commanded from the doorway of the bedroom. "And get comfortable."

While Charlie tossed off his clothes and kicked off his boots, Garak locked the door to their quarters. He wondered, briefly, when the apartment became theirs. Charlie only came around for sex.

And Charlie oozed sex, sprawled lazily in the armchair. He seemed so confident, thighs apart and erect cock offered. 

Garak crossed the room slowly, admiring Charlie. And then he tied the scarf around the Augment's head, blindfolding him. 

"Oh. Kinky," Charlie breathed.

Garak got Charlie's hands together and cuffed them. Though the Cardassian knew the Augment could break them, it still demonstrated Garak's point about who was in control.

On his knees before the Augment, Garak placed his hands along Charlie's thighs. The Augment's cock twitched. Garak mouthed at the shaft, dragged his tongue along the organ. 

Charlie groaned, head lolling back. "Fuck, don't stop."

But Garak stopped. He sat back, hands massaging Charlie's inner thighs. "You need to learn patience and I refuse to waste my breath."

Charlie struggled in his cuffs to grab at Garak, who simply moved out of reach. 

"Sex is the only thing you understand," Garak explained. "So I'll use your primal urges to my advantage."

"Garak, please," Charlie begged. 

"No." Garak got up and replicated a mug of Tarkelean tea. He settled on the sofa and watched Charlie struggle. "You'll learn to be patient."

If he was honest, Garak would have to admit he enjoyed keeping Charlie on edge. Every so often, he had to repeat the process of going down on his knees, sometimes stroking and sometimes sucking. But it was worth it to see Charlie panting, his body flushed, his cock strained at the precipice of orgasm.

And Garak denied him every time.

When Garak's point about patience was made, he finally finished sucking Charlie off. The Augment came, bitter and savoury down Garak's throat. The orgasm left Charlie a shuddering mess, unable to talk or move. 

Garak swallowed. He murmured into Charlie's hip, "Now do you understand?" 

Charlie made a noise of compliance. 

Garak accepted that and removed the cuffs first. They left nasty bruises around Charlie's wrists from the Augment's struggle to climax. Garak reached up and tugged the knot in the scarf and it fell into Charlie's lap. The fabric pooled to cover his nakedness.

"Shower first?" Garak asked as he got to his feet. 

Charlie nodded and wilted into the Cardassian. 

Garak gathered the Augment up and carried him to the bathroom to clean the tacky sweat off Charlie's body with infinite tenderness.


	5. Chapter 5

They met at Quark's for dinner, just Garak and Charlie. Charlie ate like he'd been starved, rapidly stuffing his face and he hardly said a thing all night. Garak, by comparison, ate slower and enjoyed his companion's appetite. 

And, in place of dessert, they ordered liquor.

“My Augment friend’s been worried about some Terran serial killer,” Garak said lazily. “I just don’t see why Terrans worry about every single time someone’s killed someone else.”

Charlie sipped his Seagram’s, pensive in the way he stared at the customers streaming in and out of Quark’s, which only seemed to get more packed the closer the Gratitude Festival slumped toward the station.

Finally, Charlie muttered, “I don’t know why he’s so uptight.”

“He’s a doctor.”

Charlie grinned over the rim of his glass with blindingly white teeth, back to his boyishly carefree self. The dark thing that had possessed him was gone for now. Garak doubted the destruction in his quarters was the last he’d see of that side of Charlie. The storms would come back to cloud Charlie’s vision. 

Garak almost anticipated it.

“Every Tom, Dick, and Harry’s probably trying to hunt him down,” Charlie muttered, refiling his glass.

Garak nodded. “Terrans take murder too seriously.”

Charlie’s eyes darted around the bar. Garak felt the Augment coil up, like a serpent ready to strike with all its venom. 

Garak reached over and placed a hand on Charlie’s waist. “You know, there’s augmented Cardassians.”

“Sure.” Charlie drained his glass, set it down on the table, and got up.

“It’s no crime on Cardassia,” Garak offered. “Twenty-three hundred?”

Charlie blinked, shook his head as if clearing it. Or maybe he was waking himself up to the possibility of relative safety. “Sure. Twenty-three hundred.”

Garak waited until Charlie left the bar before the Cardassian got up and stretched. Garak left latinum for their tab, plus tip. He followed behind the Terran, making it seem as if he just happened to be strolling in the same direction as the blonde. 

It was so nice to do some surveillance with legwork again, Garak thought to himself. 

Charlie, however, made a mad rush to get off the Promenade with no attempts to discourage being trailed. The tailour hardly needed to glance at Charlie to keep an eye on him.

Truly, if Garak was going to hand him over to Pythas, something would need to be done about Charlie’s directness, his lack of stealth. It was disappointing for someone Augmented. It kept drawing stares.

The stares Garak could manage. He’d always been stared at on this station and he knew how to make small talk with customers while keeping sight of Charlie. And for those who’d never met the Cardassian before, Garak just smiled cordially and most Bajorans hurried off.

Eventually, Charlie darted off the Promenade, toward less trafficked halls of the main body of the station. The Augment squeezed himself into the turbolift shaft that had been decommissioned by O’Brien shortly after the incident with the ore processing facility. Garak gave him time before reconnecting the wires. As talented as he was, Garak was above climbing turbolift shafts. And they were such confined spaces that made his scales itch at the thought.

On the way down, Garak realized Charlie had to be living in the ore processing facility. The air tasted thickly of the unnatural tang of genetic augmentation and the earthy flavour of dust. 

Underneath the abandonment, there really was the identifying and disgusting taste-scent of voles. Garak heard them chewing or skittering off into darker, more distant corners. Everything echoed into itself tenfold in the dark. He shuddered at the thought of their teeth chewing through the wires and metal.

That explained why Charlie was always so eager to use the sonic shower in Garak’s quarters. 

Garak wondered if Charlie had been eating the voles. It was a dreadful image, but Garak could fixate on nothing else.

The turbolift jerked, then ground to a halt. Garak stepped off and darted into the nearest shadow, still and holding this breath. The taste-scent of Augment was distant and only grew more distant with each passing second.

Garak slipped from shadow to shadow. He paused often and surveyed the rooms for anything that might explain Charlie.

Living down here explained how Charlie could hide so well on the station despite his obvious lack of training, his overt luck at the dabo tables, and his obviously issued-yet-unmarked jumpsuits. The computers here, all defunct now, wouldn’t pick up on any bio-signatures. They wouldn’t pick up on anything without the power being rerouted and the wiring being fixed.

Perhaps the voles really were good for something.

Garak listened in the dimness of the ore processing facility. There was rustling and Garak sipped the air. Augment.

He pulled the disruptor pistol out from the pocket of his tunic. He hadn’t needed to carry one until he started this whole affair with Charlie. Garak knew Odo would want to know, btu the constable could wait. There was something more important than filling out forms for a single disruptor.

Carefully, Garak picked his way through the facility, Cardassian eyes better equipped for the darkness. He shuddered. The atmospheric controls and life support were running at bare minimum, which left this section of the station cold.

The Cardassian decided it would be best to find the Augment before hypothermia set in. It wouldn’t do to be done in by a bit of cold instead of by Charlie himself.

He hoped, down here, that he and Charlie would be equally matched, if it came to it.

* * *

The ore processing centre was designed in such a labyrinthian manner so as to confuse any rebel Bajorans who might try and escape to the upper levels. But it also kept Garak moving slower and he regretted not having better preparations for this errand. Three times, he circled back on himself and more often he reached a dead end either from purposefully placed debris or from the lack of repairs.

In Garak's opinion, they were paying Chief O'Brien too much.

He clung to the shadows. The Cardassian sipped often at the air, tongue flicking out into the dust and dereliction. When he tasted vole, he turned the opposite direction. When he tasted Augment, he kept going. 

It was rather clever of Charlie to use this underbelly to hide himself, no matter how filthy it was.

Voles skittered into the dark. They hissed. They chattered. They chewed on who knows what in the dark. Cables, Garak guessed, or on Charlie’s scraps. He hoped they were more content to nest than to maliciously bite through any vital parts of the station. 

The thought of how small the station really was and how it was just a confined space made Garak shudder. He pointed his disruptor at a particularly fat vole, which bared all its yellowed teeth at the Cardassian.

Rustling around the corner sounded different from the voles. Charlie. This had to be his den. 

Garak rounded the final corner and found the place where Augment coated Garak's sinuses in the chemical tang of Charlie. Underneath that acetic burn was the smoulder of whiskey and the saccharine punch of cherry sours. It reeked of Charlie without the sex. Garak could've stood there all day and sipped the air contentedly.

But he held his disruptor tighter. "Stop right there, Charlie."

Quicker than Garak could blink, Charlie pulled a disruptor rifle from under a dusty blanket. The Augment could pull the trigger before Garak, the tailour knew, but Charlie's hands shook as he held the rifle. The blanket flapped onto sagging cot, which held Charlie's bag, half-packed in a rush.

"Are you going to shoot me?" Garak asked calmly. 

“You’re going to turn me in!” Charlie hissed. He sniffed, probably due to the dust. “I’m not going to jail. I didn’t ask for this.”

“Of course you didn’t. No Augment did,” Garak soothed. He didn’t lower his disruptor. “But I have no intention of turning you in, Charlie.”

The lie seemed to settle Charlie, who lowered his disruptor almost imperceptibly. “You’re not? Why the fuck would you let me walk?”

“Being augmented on Cardassia is no crime,” Garak explained. “If you’d like, I could contact a few people and see about getting you your freedom.”

“What the fuck kind of tailour are you?”

“Tailoring is just what I’ve settled into,” Garak answered. “Before, I was a gardener, an artist, even a politician.” 

Garak reached into his tunic and removed the Obsidian Order badge he’d kept in spite of the scratches on its surface. He slid it across the floor, where Charlie stopped it with his boot. After he glared at Garak, Charlie stooped to pick up the badge and turned it over and over. 

“You’re some deadly fucker,” Charlie murmured, barely loud enough for Garak to hear.

“I like to think of it as being a diplomat of a different sort,’ Garak answered. “I assume you haven’t found the prisoners’ quarters yet?”

“What makes you say that?”

“You taste like you need a shower.”

“Stop tasting me.” Charlie narrowed his eyes and raised his disruptor. “Freak.”

“It’s a simple matter of Cardassian physiology. I can’t stop tasting the air anymore than you can stop feeling a fever.”

Charlie tossed the badge back to Garak, who caught it and stored it safely in that discreet pocket. “How’d you figure me out?”

“Scorpio,” Garak said simply. “And your augmentations. You’re terribly unsubtle.”

Something dark crept into Charlie’s face. “If I killed you right now, you couldn’t tell anyone.”

“You need me,” Garak answered calmly. “I can get you off this station on one condition. No one will ever know or ask. You’d be free.”

“What’s the condition?”

“In order to get you properly freed, my fugitive friend,” Garak said, “I need to make you a Cardassian.”

“Why?” Charlie’s eyes were dark, unreadable in the shadows of the ore processing centre’s belly. 

“Well, Cardassia likes to capitalize on Terran losses. They hate Augments, we invite them to dinner. They lock Augments in institutes to keep them away from people, we give them jobs and freedom.” Garak smiled as he looked Charlie over. “And, like I said, Terrans are obsessed with murder.”

“So what? You forge some papers, make me over, and I go free?”

“Better,” Garak assured him, putting his pistol away. “Lower the disruptor and I’ll set you up with an occupation that makes use of your unique talents.”

Charlie’s hand shook worse, to the point he placed both hands on the disruptor. “Why me?”

“I like you,” Garak answered. “And if my friends like you, I might be allowed back home.” It was a lie, even to himself. Garak knew one Augment-turned-agent would never redeem him truly. “We both benefit this way. You’ll be so well hidden you’ll never have to worry about any Federation prison and I’m back in the Order’s good graces”

Charlie lowered his rifle painfully slow and placed it in his half-packed collection of things. He crossed the room to cling to Garak.

“If you’re lying, I’ll gut you,” Charlie hissed into Garak’s chest.

“I expect nothing less,” Garak replied as he rubbed Charlie’s back.


	6. Chapter 6

Garak found he liked Charlie as a bedfellow and part-time roommate for the most part. The Augment slept little aside from long naps after sex. He ate plenty, always snacked on replicated cherry candies. Often his manic episodes made him childishly happy over the smallest things.

Once, Garak scratched under Charlie's chin and the Augment purred into Garak's hand.

But the Augment was a double-edged sword on two gloriously lean legs. 

Charlie had his morose days where he laid in the dark. Worse, though, were when he'd curl up in impossible spaces, confined in his own self-hugs. Nothing Garak tried during these episodes would work. Not sex. Not Charlie's preferred liquour. Nothing.

And it swapped so often Garak's head swam. Sometimes, he could detect what had flipped Charlie's switch. Other days, it was a mystery. 

Some days, Charlie would switch so many times.

He was bored, Garak deduced. Bored of being cooped up. Bored of playing the same Kotra games. Bored of sex, even.

"Charlie?"

"Hmm?" Charlie was in one of his dour moods, but settled on the floor. Slowly, he slumped against Garak's leg while the Cardassian watched from the armchair. "Garak?"

"I could use some extra hands with all this work," Garak suggested. "I don't think I've ever been so busy in all my life."

"Need some help?"

"Only if you wouldn't mind."

Charlie, bold as ever, took Garak's work and, after a moment of studying the fabric and the handheld tool, went right to work. It seemed to make him less morose. Not happy, but not depressed.

"I'd need an assistant," Garak added, running fingers through Charlie's blonde curls. "The pay's not terrible."

"Alright."

* * *

Charlie worked hard and deftly, sewing as if he was born for it. Garak allocated the funds for a new payroll. The latinum seemed to keep Charlie away from the dabo tables more and more and the work seemed to placate the mood swings, the ups and downs that came with genetic augmentation.

He was calmer in the shop. Garak could only imagine what Charlie would look like carrying out work for the Obsidian Order, the manic smile he might wear while killing free of repercussions, so long as he kept his hands clean enough.

“You’re being hunted.” 

“Glad to see you’re so smart.” The handheld machine stopped before it stitched Charlie’s hand to the Andorian silk. 

“I meant, they’re going to send the dog-catchers after a rabid mutt,” Garak replied. “So who’s the dog-catcher?”

“Detective Harry Callahan.” 

"The Gratitude Festival would be the ideal time for the detective to slip onto the station." Garak kept his eyes on his sewing, something new and blue for Julian. Perhaps he'd be going around with an Andorian at this Festival instead of Major Kira. "So many people and so much activity. Who'd notice one arrest?"

Charlie begged, "You can't let him."

"I've no intention of letting you be arrested." Garak looked up. Charlie was pale and broke out in a cold sweat. "Give me time to work."

* * *

The backroom of the shop was the least suitable place for a tryst. But Charlie made it work and Garak accomodated him. His teeth caught on the ridges of Garak’s neck, biting hard enough to make the Cardassian groan. 

His hands were just as skilled. His fingers slipped into Garak’s ajan, working him open. Garak had never felt so aroused in all his life. Charlie's fingers were warm in his slit, the slick noises blocked out any sounds from the Promenade, and everything tasted like Charlie. Glorious, chemical-laden, cherry-saccharine Charlie.

“I want to fuck you.”

Garak nodded as best he could with his neck in Charlie’s teeth.

He didn’t expect Terran cock to be so warm. Charlie hissed into Garak’s shoulder. All of Charlie was warm and Garak wondered if the station might detect him as being a threat and spray him with coolant. And that image made Garak groan and think only of Charlie's blond hair clumped with coolant, a few stray droplets rolling down the sharp angles of Charlie's throat and chest. Garak imagined coolant pooling in the jutting spaces of Carlie's collarbones. 

“My cup runneth over,” Garak recalled.

They rutted, Garak's back to the wall. This was so much more satisfying than the chaste darkness of Garak's bed or the domestic comfort of the sofa. 

And here, there was no fear of anyone finding out about them. No one wanted to walk in on the Cardassian tailour and a younger Terran man.

Garak came first, powerless in Charlie's hands. Charlie, ever so crudely considerate, turned to grab a scrap rag to wipe them down with. 

"You didn't cum," Garak noted, trying to catch his breath. 

"I don't need to." But there was something wild and wound up in Charlie's posture, the way he nearly tore the fabric in his hands. 

So Garak got to his knees, which protested, and dragged his tongue along Charlie's cock. Charlie ran fingers through Garak's hair. The Augment seemed to marvel at the texture of feathers. Garak laughed into Charlie's hip, thinking of the Terran phrase about ruffled feathers. 

"What's so funny?"

Garak didn't answer, but took Charlie's cock into his mouth.

* * *

Footsteps approached the shop. Garak, gently, guided Charlie into the backroom, a hand on the small of the Terran's back.

"Oh shit," Charlie murmured. 

"Just stay quiet," Garak assured him.

Garak turned, still mostly obscuring the doorway while the door slid shut. Captain Sisko beamed at the Cardassian.

"The fit is perfect," Sisko said.

"I would hope so." Garak crossed the room to draw attention to a half-dressed shop mannequin.

"How did you get it done so quickly?" Sisko asked.

"I've hired an extra set of hands since this Gratitude Festival promises to be larger than the last."

"I suppose you're right."

Garak heard the door to the backroom open just slightly and he turned his head just enough to watch Charlie out of his periphery.

The Cardassian caught a glimpse of something in Charlie's hand, a look of surprise on the Terran's face. Charlie's fingers glided over the surface. The door to the backroom slid shut, just before Captain Sisko turned to follow Garak's stare.

Garak's pulse raced, but his mind was quicker. He had a lie at the tip of his tongue when Sisko glanced at him.

"I'll get the exterminators on that vole problem, Garak."

"You might want to start with the nests in the ore processing centre, Captain."


	7. Chapter 7

It was deathly quiet, the kind of quiet that came before a storm or a murder and Garak wasn’t quite sure which yet. He kept sewing, the last few bits of purple silk for some Andorian diplomat. They, at least, could handle a cold station with its—

Charlie thrust the data padd into Garak's face and, when the Cardassian didn't take it, slapped the work out of Garak's hands, handheld sewing machine buzzing on floor.

"What the hell is this?" Charlie demanded.

Garak saw him tremble and, with as much calm as he could, folded the fabric neatly, setting it next to him on the sofa. Without so much as looking at Charlie, Garak picked up the handheld device, switched it off, and set it on the coffee table.

"Well?" Charlie yelled. The hand holding the data padd trembled too badly for Garak to read it.

Not that he needed to. Without looking at it, Garak answered, "The Obsidian Order has been looking for fresh blood. Recruiting in the same way we've always done has grown stale."

"Obsidian Order. You’re just getting rid of me," Charlie accused. 

"I'm merely sending you somewhere you'll be able to live freely and repay the people who're saving you." Garak glared at Charlie. With a sort of dawning horror, Garak realized he resented Charlie. "If you like, the door's behind you."

Charlie stiffened at that. "So that's it, hmm? You want to drop me off with your pals and take off." 

Charlie turned and, with a perfect fluidity to his motion, threw the data padd at the wall, where it broke, plastic and circuits and metal strewn across the carpet. Garak couldn't keep the disappointment and anger out of his expression.

"If you're going to do this again, you can do it at Quark's."

That single sentence seemed to draw Charlie out of his spitefulness. The Augment turned and sank to his knees. He tried to wedge himself between Garak's knees in apology. But the Augment had never been sorry for anything.

So Charlie retreated, coiled up in the armchair. "I'm not your fucking pedigree dog."

Garak raised a brow ridge. He calmly bent, picked up the sewing tool and held it for a while to consider its shape, its weight. He debated going back to work. But he decided against it with Charlie in a fit.

"You have my name, my height, my weight." Charlie drew physically further into himself, even as he lashed out at Garak. "Even a fucking writing sample."

"We've been through this before, Charlie. I'm doing you a service." Garak set his tool on the table. 

"Are you fucking Pythas Lok or what?"

"I am not," Garak answered. "Pythas Lok and I are...not involved like that."

"But you used to be. Is he your sugar daddy?" Charlie asked, coiled tight like a serpent ready to strike. Venomously, he spat, “Does he buy you shiny things? Give you money for being a good boy?”

“No.” Garak took a deep breath to calm himself. “He doesn’t.”

“What is it, goddamn it?” Charlie launched himself out of the armchair to get in Garak’s face, the Terran’s breath hot and reeking of cherry sours and Seagram’s. “What is it?”

Without thinking, Garak made a fist. He felt Charlie's warm face against his knuckles, heard the crunch of cartilage. Then the Augment practically fell into Garak's lap. Charlie howled like an animal and curled into himself. Garak saw red glisten on Charlie's fingertips, but felt no regret or remorse. It wasn’t the first nose he’d broken and it probably wouldn’t be the last.

“You broke it you stupid fuck!” Charlie shrieked.

Garak let Charlie's screeches die down to childish sobs before he shoved the Terran out of his lap. Without a word, Garak got the medkit and brought it to the living room. Charlie sprawled out on the floor, eyes darkened with anger. When Garak setted calmly back on the sofa, Charlie petulantly placed his chin in the Cardassian’s lap, demanding to have his nose fixed.

For a long time, it the room fell silent aside from the hum of medical tools and the duller, deeper vibrations of the station itself.

"Pythas Lok is a relative of mine," Garak explained, unprompted. 

"I'm sorry." Equally unprompted and so soft it was hardly more than a breath.

Once Charlie's nose set and Garak felt certain there'd be no bruising, the Cardassian grabbed a piece of scrap fabric and raised it to his lips to wet it, just the way Mila used to when he was a hatchling.

Repressing that, Garak cleaned the blood from Charlie's face with infinite tenderness.

In spite of all the rage between them, Charlie began tugging at Garak's clothes, a quiet insistence on sex. 

"Bedroom?" Garak asked.

Charlie ravished the Cardassian and made a low growl. Affirmative. Garak stood. Charlie leapt to his feet. The Augment was all hands and teeth, guiding Garak back into the room where they slept.

Charlie fucked angrily. He shoved Garak into bed and straddled him, but refused to let Garak touch him. Every ounce of Charlie's attention was expended on the intent to bruise every time his hips met Garak's.

The Augment reminded Garak of one of Julian's Terran stories, the ouroboros with its tail held fast in its jaws. If anyone could swallow themself whole, Garak thought Charlie could manage it in all his vengeful glory.

Garak tasted the air and caught the chemical tang of augment, the musk of sex, the saline of Charlie's sweat. The Cardassian wondered if the Terran's vision could catch the way he glistened in the dim lights. 

Probably. He was augmented, after all. Garak wished he had a mirror for Charlie to be a vain, preening thing in.

Charlie came in threads of ivory, head bowed as he sunk completely down on the Cardassian's cock to catch his breath. Garak thought of Renaissance paintings as he cupped Charlie's hip.

"My dear," Garak said at last, "you're quite heavy."

"Never made you made before." Charlie sulked. He raised his head, tossing wet curls out of his face, lips pink and full.

"I'm not angry," Garak assured him, running claws lightly down Charlie's spine. "Just uncomfortable."

But Garak watched Charlie get up and retreat to the bathroom, grabbing his shirt as he went. The hum of the sonic shower seemed so inviting, but Garak stayed in bed and stared up at the ceiling wondering how Pythas was ever going to tame Charlie.

When Charlie collapsed into bed, Garak got up to clean himself off. When he returned to the bedroom, Charlie was curled up and sleeping deeply.

* * *

Garak had everything laid out, including the lies. Now all he needed, as he settled into the armchair in his quarters, was add some work and maybe a little polish.

First, a runabout to the first Cardassian colony under the guise of medical treatment. He would, of course, be meeting with a doctor, but not for himself. He’d need someone he could trust, someone who specialized in Order-sanctioned changes. 

Forging papers was child's play, especially for a member of the Obsidian Order. Garak thought he should thank Charlie for keeping his skills so sharp. 

The hardest part of this would be transporting Charlie off the station. If the Augment was nestled in the gutted ore processing centre, it might be harder to trace any transporter signatures on or off the station. 

Finally, Garak just needed to feed Captain Sisko lies.

Garak backed up his files on Charlie on a new padd. He’d have to be more careful with the Augment and what he found. It wouldn’t do if he could go around breaking every single code Garak utilized. Some things were meant to be kept secret.


	8. Chapter 8

Everything was going perfectly. Sisko had received the request for a runabout, the anticipated path, a vague enough explanation of a Cardassian medical condition. 

Charlie seemed to be in a good mood today. With his help, Garak got through more commissions in a day than he usually did in a week. Truly, the Augment's skill was creating and not destroying. Though it would be hard to convince Charlie of that.

The hurried sound of heels made Garak pause any work he couldn't afford to part with. He'd never quite understood why Bajorans required their security officers to wear heels. If it was for intimidation, then their uniform coordinator had never met Major Kira Nerys.

"Garak."

Garak glanced up from his pretend work. "Major Kira. What a surprise. I'm sure I can squeeze you in for a fitting."

Major Kira crossed the room with the military efficiency she always used. "What the hell are you planning?"

"I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about." Garak blinked, the picture of innocent ignorance. “Aside from my work, I’m not planning anything.”

"A runabout? To a Cardassian colony?" She thrust a data padd at him. The mistrust in her dark eyes burned bright. Not that Garak would have it any other way "Captain Sisko wants words with you."

Garak took the padd gingerly and read over his own request. There were things he could have phrased better, but overall nothing suspicious or overtly tied to Cardassian politics. "I have a medical condition."

"You don't." Major Kira folded her arms over her chest. "I know damn well you're in perfect health."

Garak handed the padd back to Major Kira and smiled warmly at her. "I'm glad you think so. But I doubt you’re a fit judge, Major."

She snatched the padd and narrowed her eyes at him. 

"Don't you go to Jabara when you need a Bajoran hand?" Garak idly looked Major Kira over. "I think you'd look better in something blue."

"Don't change the subject." Major Kira relaxed in her stance, but only slightly. "I want the truth. Are you planning something?"

"Planning something?" Garak lazily waved a hand in dismissal. "Major, I understand your grievances, but I assure you I'm not plotting any terrorist attack on the Gratitude Festival. I'm not even planning on bringing friends to drink the spring wine before you can get to it."

Major Kira sighed. "Swear on it?"

"Absolutely, Major. I've no reason to lie." He raised his hands in surrender and placation. “I know perfectly well what you’re capable of and I prefer, when possible, to stay on your good side.”

She studied him for a long moment. Perhaps something black would suit her better, bring out the depth of her eyes. If he hadn't read her personnel file, Garak would have sworn she was part Betazoid. Perhaps most Bajorans didn’t have latent telepathy, but Garak swore on the rare occasion that Major Kira won some sort of lucky genetic lottery.

"Alright." She turned to leave, her military stance at ease.

"Major?"

She stared at him over her shoulder. 

"If you need something to wear to the Festival, I'll make the time for you."

"Thank you, Garak, but I've got my outfit planned." Her voice was clipped, cool, and impersonal again.

But Garak could have sworn there was a twitch at the corners of her mouth, the ghost of a smile.

* * *

Julian and Garak huddled close together. They'd just read 1984 in preparation for this lunch and their tempers seemed warm, dancing between embers and flames. 

"I just don't understand how you can't see it," Julian said, stabbing at his food with more force than necessary. "Cardassia is just like Oceania."

"Perhaps in your mind," Garak sniffed, "but I find the comparison distasteful."

Julian rolled his eyes. He opened his mouth as if to say something, then brought food to his lips, stuffing his mouth in order to avoid saying something rude.

"Cardassians," Garak began slowly as he stabbed at a slice of cake with his own fork, "are best suited to our own methods of government, which take into account our unique psychology."

Julian swallowed. "Oh you're all so unique." He scoffed and prodded his lunch. Under his breath, the doctor added, "Unique at being bastards."

"If you're going to swear at me, we won't discuss books again," Garak retorted. 

Julian looked up, hazel eyes wide and helpless. "Garak..."

"No. You've made your stance on Cardassians clear. So has Major Kira--"

"She really came to the shop?" 

Garak stared cooly at Julian. 

"Sorry."

Garak nodded his acceptance. "And you're always with O'Brien. He's made his disdain very clear."

"Miles doesn't think you're like that."

"Like what?" Garak raised a brow-ridge. "War-mongering lizard oppressors?"

Julian shrugged. "Violent. Brutish. Cruel and calculating."

"Tell Miles O'Brien I never stopped calculating in my exile," Garak hissed. He didn't mean the anger in his voice, not really. It was all in fun. And he grinned at Julian.

Julian's worry broke and the doctor smiled as brightly as ever. "Next week?"

"Serial poets." Garak produced a data rod, which Julian took. "Since you're in the mood to be inflamed."

Julian raised a brow. "Is that an innuendo?"

"A Cardassian without innuendos is like a Changeling without the ability to shapeshift."

"Point taken." Julian turned the data rod over in his hand. "Lunch again?" 

"Unfortunately not." Garak went back to his cake. It was delightful for something replicated. He'd have to trust Julian's judgement more often. “I’ll be on a bit of a holiday.”

Despite the rejection, Julian seemed as happy as ever. “You work too hard. Enjoy your trip, Elim.”

* * *

Full, warmed by a mug of redleaf, and stimulated for debate, Garak took the turbolift up to Ops. He didn’t want to keep the captain waiting. At least, not for long.

"Mister Garak," Captain Sisko said, watching the Cardassian. "My office, please."

"But of course." 

Garak stepped into Sisko's office. It was still so sparse aside from a single painting hung on the wall, two ship models, and the baseball on Captain Sisko's desk. Garak considered how well the captain might react to being gifted a plant. Maybe something Bajoran.

Sisko crossed the room and seated himself at his desk, the picture of authority in command red and Starfleet protocol. He gestured for Garak to take the seat across from him and the Cardassian did. 

Sisko stared Garak down. "Well?"

“Captain, I assure you my request is not that strange,” Garak answered, hands folded in his lap. He projected the image of calm composure, nothing to suggest he was lying to Sisko’s face.

“You want to take a runabout to a Cardassian colony just days before the Bajoran Gratitude Festival takes place on this station.” Sisko leaned back in his chair and studied Garak. “Why?”

“Put simply, I have a medical condition, Captain, and I require a steady Cardassian hand.” 

“Why haven’t you brought this up to Doctor Bashir?” Sisko tilted his head, a subtle gesture of probing. He always was better at investigation than the other members of his staff. “I understand he removed that Obsidian Order implant and saved your life. Why keep this a secret from him?”

“It’s a condition that affects the biology of Cardassians,” Garak emphasized.

“Cardassian biology.” Sisko’s features softened, his posture relaxed slightly. “Right.”

“So you see why I am reluctant to visit Bashir.” Garak looked down, as if ashamed. Really, he didn’t think he could hide a smirk. He was embarrassingly out of practice. “Julian is talented without comparison, but he is no Cardassian.”

“Garak, I have to deny this request,” Sisko said firmly. “I’m sorry. If there’s any way we can--”

“It’s not lethal, Captain,” Garak assured him. “Not yet, anyway.”

“If the Gratitude Festival wasn’t this week--”

“I understand, Captain.” Garak swallowed and made it seem like dejection. “I’m sure Bashir can remedy the symptoms until after the Festival.”

Sisko nodded. Garak thought the captain looked soft and apologetic. His sympathy, Garak mused as he left Sisko’s office, is his strength. And one day, it would kill him.

With a small sigh, Garak took the turbolift down to the Promenade. 


	9. Chapter 9

It was early. Though they’d gone through their night routine of wearing each other down through violent sex that lasted late into the night, they both woke up before Garak’s alarm. They lay in the dark for a long while and just stared at each other. 

No lingering touches. No frustrated kisses. Nothing louder than their slow, even breaths. None of the tired need and lust they usually engaged in before the pair got up for the day.

In the sort of rhythm that came only with long-term cohabitation, Garak and Charlie gravitated toward the kitchen.

The kitchen was dim. Neither the Cardassian nor the Augment needed or wanted the bright, cold station light installed in most personal quarters. Not yet. Garak took two mugs of raktajino from the replicator and Charlie accepted one. 

"He'll be here today." Charlie said it unprompted, like he was going to morning Temple services to listen to a Vedek talk about sin. "The detective."

"I figured it would be the detective." Charlie’s only made vague allusions to this detective, but Garak can read between the lines. The Cardassian didn’t think a man with the moniker “Dirty Harry” was known for his hospitality and de-escalation tactics. Garak sipped his coffee. "How'd you know?"

"Passenger manifests." Charlie stirred the foam with a finger, sucking it off coquettishly. "You'd think they'd be more secure."

"Hmm. You're right." 

"He's going to kick in doors. They don't call him 'Dirty' for nothing."

"Let's hope not too many doors." Garak sipped his coffee again. The perfect temperature. "The last thing we need is Bajoran-Terran hostilities."

"They won't go to war." Charlie stared at his raktajino. He drained the mug, chugging down the thick Klingon coffee. He returned the empty mug to the replicator. "Terrans are too scared to shit anywhere but at home."

Garak chuckled at the Terran's colourful tongue.

* * *

Major Kira decorated the Promenade in metallic banners and lanterns and Garak appreciated the effect. Terok Nor was built for war and conquest, but Deep Space Nine was a conversion from machine to home. The glowing blue flames only cemented that. 

Softly, scrolls rustled and pens scratched. When Garak brushed past people to get to his shop, the murmur of "Peldor joi" died in their throats and the friendly smiles fell. Garak didn't expect to be well received at a Bajoran festival, even if he was a fixture on the station. Truthfully, he didn’t expect to be received at all, which the Festival’s tourists seemed to think as well.

Garak scented the air, the thick, sweet incense and savoury taste of fresh paper burning. He thought, for a moment, of Oralian services and secret temples, the hushed murmur of Tolan’s voice he’d heard in the dark basement. 

He brushed shoulders with a Bajoran man. The man was tan and thickly built, a farmer. He narrowed his eyes at the Cardassian even as he greeted, "Peldor joi."

Garak said nothing in reply, turned, and cut through the crowd easy as water. 

And then he opened his shop for the day.

* * *

The detective had a rugged handsomeness to him as he strode into the shop. He was worn, tired, in need of mending. Garak wondered how many threads he’d need to pluck to make him leave for the afternoon and how many more it would take to make him leave for good.

“Augments? I thought Terrans didn’t dip into that,” Garak answered, folding clothes idly. “A backwards thought if I’ve ever heard one.”

“Have you seen him or not?” Callahan demanded. “Don’t waste my time, lizard.”

“Don’t start using slurs, Detective,” Garak snapped as he stopped folding. He narrowed his eyes at the man. “I don’t scare like that.”

Callahan meandered the shop and stared at the dressed mannequins. Garak noted the lack of apology.

“Ego, isn’t it?” Garak asked as he crossed the shop to adjust one of the shop mannequins pointedly. “You come in here and start posturing for ego’s sake.”

“I’m just hunting an Augment,” Callahan said. “Have you or haven’t you seen him?”

“No, Detective, I’m afraid I haven’t,” Garak answered, eyes on his work.

“Thanks for your time.” Callahan stepped out of the shop and scanned the Promenade. Then he hurried off into the crowds.

* * *

Charlie shoved the last of his things into his case and slammed it shut. Garak raised a brow-ridge.

"I'm going to hide out in the Jeffries," Charlie explained. "I'm more nimble than Callahan."

"Why not nest in the ore processing centre like you were?" 

"They'll search there first since the computers are down," Charlie said as he pulled the strap of the case up on his shoulder. "Once they've searched there, I'll go down and--"

"What if they scan the station looking for Augments?"

"Then your doctor friend, Bashir, I think?" Charlie smiled at Garak, the Terran's face sunny like he hadn't just outed the only other Augment on the station. "I'd say he's in trouble too." 

Garak hummed. "Perhaps they already know about Julian."

"Well, he'll still show up on their scans and give me time."

"Why not stay here?" Garak asked. "I could protect you."

"Because you're smothering me," Charlie snapped. "You're always trying to protect me. I can protect myself."

Charlie brushed past Garak, who grabbed Charlie's wrist. Charlie turned, blonde hair tossed with the motion. The Augment's blue eyes were wide, manic as he twisted out of Garak's hold on him.

Charlie hissed, "You don't own me."

"I never said I did." 

Charlie stormed out of Garak's quarters. The door slid shut and locked. 

And Garak was left alone.

* * *

Commerce. Garak's shop continued to empty of commissions, leaving it looking more and more barren while the Promenade filled with people and colourful fabric. A skirt for a date, this suit for Temple services tomorrow, that new blouse finished yesterday. 

Only receipts reminded him they’d existed at all. They’d be back for mending, Garak knew. Especially things worn on dates. Alcohol and thin fabrics and clumsy hands rarely mixed well.

The only thing left was inventory. Andorian silk was running low in the selections of blue, indigo, and violet. And the Betazoid lace needed to be reordered since he'd heard there were at least five engagements in the last month. The iridescent Tellarite buttons were a favourite for summer clothing and Bajor was heating up.

The backroom door slid open, Charlie staggered out. He seemed drunk, not injured.

"Charlie." Garak said it curtly and turned to note which mannequins he could start dressing for the new season. "Shouldn't you be hiding?"

"Garak, please," Charlie begged. 

"What?"

"I need you."

Garak clicked his tongue in mock disappointment. A dangerous move with Charlie. "I'm not going to blow you. And you said yourself you could handle this on your own."

Charlie licked his lips. He nodded and stared down at his boots. Garak saw that kind of wounded once before on the other Augments, the ones Charlie called the "knockoffs." 

"How bad?" Garak asked, impulsive and risky, but he felt better for having asked it.

"I got lonely." Charlie didn't sound the least bit lonely. Only horny, wound-up like a starved flayer. "So lonely."

"Show me," Garak said and brushed past the Augment to the backroom. 

Charlie, ever obedient, followed Garak into the back. Without hesitation, Charlie sank to his knees and, before the backroom door could shut and lock, the Augment had Garak everted.

"If I didn't know any better, I'd say you're getting a taste for Cardassian," 

The Augment said nothing, but held Garak’s gaze as Charlie took every inch of Garak's cock into his mouth. The Cardassian loved the image of Charlie on his knees, the gentle pink of his lips, colour rising in his face. 

He tried to picture Charlie as a Cardassian, the flustered pink replaced by impassive grey scales. The eyes, though, they'd stay that same electricity-storm-ice-ocean blue. 

And then Charlie did that thing with his tongue and Garak couldn't help himself. He felt the pressure of Charlie swallowing, that warm Terran tongue doing horrible tricks. Garak wasn't even aware he was holding Charlie by the hair until he looked down. Slowly, he let go, fingers uncurled to release Charlie. 

And they lingered there. Garak stared down at Charlie, the gloss of saliva on the Augment's full, pink lower lip, pupils dilated to swallow blue irises, nimble hands resting on Garak's thighs, pale on grey. 

It felt safe and familiar.

And then the shop door chimed, signalling someone had entered. Charlie was up, quick, and pulled aside a loose panel. 

"You naughty Terran," Garak hissed, pulling up his slacks and buttoning them. “I should spank you.”

"Look, it goes back into place," Charlie snapped, voice low. He bent at the waist, as if he dared Garak to slap his rear. "Screw them on tighter if you don't want me in here."

"Just don't tear up anymore fabric."

Charlie tucked himself into the space with a glare. He pulled the panel back into place, silently, and it looked as if the panel had never moved. 

Garak made sure he didn't look like he'd just been sucked off by a fugitive Augment in the backroom. Then he stepped into the shop.

"Lizard."

"Detective Callahan." Garak grinned. It felt more like a grimace. "What can I do for you? New suit? New holster?"

"Tailor." Callahan's gruff voice cut Garak off.

"Detective." Garak dropped into the icy voice he only used for Quark. "I don't see an Augment in custody."

"I've got my lead." Callahan fingered the disruptor pistol on his hip. 

"I have to warn you, Detective, most Cardassians are trained in the art of self-defense."

"Is that a threat?"

Garak grinned and showed Callahan plenty of teeth. "No more than you caressing that disruptor in my place of business."

Callahan narrowed his eyes to slits. "If I find out you've been hiding him, I won't hesitate, you scaly bastard."

"Neither will I, Detective, if you decide to show that pistol some action." Garak turned to adjust the blouse on a mannequin, making the fabric sit a bit neater. He adjusted the tie on another to get it smotheringly tight. "Good day, Mister Callahan."

But Callahan gone before Garak had the time to finish his sentence.


	10. Chapter 10

Half-asleep, Garak thought he missed Charlie, the warmth and weight next to him. But it was for the best. He was getting too wrapped up in one man. It would make the separation when he gave Charlie up more painful than it needed to be. For both of them.

He turned over, only to tangle up in his sheets, and blinked at the darkness. Sleep crept up on him again, the slow assassin. Garak felt its poison seep into him, slowing his breathing and closing his eyes.

But before Garak fell into the dreamless dark, he felt a warmth on his back. Body heat. And the touch of soft curls on his shoulder. He thought he heard a whisper in hot breaths on his neck.

Charlie. It had to be.

But Garak was too tired to turn over again and fell into the deep.

When he woke, the bed was still warm, Charlie's scent on the sheets, and a single strand of blonde hair on the other pillow.

A sort of panic bled into him. Garak swallowed it, thick and bitter, and got up. There was work to be done. 

* * *

Garak sipped his Tarkalean tea and looked over the station news feeds. He needed to cut back on the caffeine in his attempt to keep up with his augmented pet. It was giving him anxiety. More than was useful.

The door chimed to announce a guest. 

Garak thought it might be Charlie, early for a quick fuck and before he went back into hiding. He opened the door.

It wasn't Charlie. 

"Lizard," Detective Callahan snapped. "I'm searching all living quarters."

"I see you're still terrible at your only job." Garak sipped his tea. "I won't allow it."

"You think I need a warrant?" 

"Of course." Garak stared coolly at Callahan. "You think I'm going to let you in without one? Due process, Detective. It's a very important part of your trade."

"Is fucking the Augment terrorist part of yours?"

Garak blinked, impassive. He sipped his tea and said nothing but refused to move when Callahan tried to enter his quarters. Garak knew his rights as a station resident, even if he was unpopular on the station on the basis of species.

"Fucking spoonhead." 

"What was that, Detective?" Garak narrowed his eyes. "You shouldn't mumble."

Callahan made eye contact before he lowered his softened stare. Guilt, Garak suspected. Ashamed to be called out.

"Come back with the Constable and I might let you in," Garak said firmly. "Until then, fuck off, Mister Callahan."

Callahan glared at Garak. Before Garak could say anything else, the detective shoved the Cardassian out of the way. The Tarkalean tea splashed over the rim of the mug, onto Garak's wrist, and seeped into the sleeve of his shirt. Garak, bewildered, only staggered further into his quarters. He stared at his soaked sleeve and felt an icy rage blooming.

The Cardassian had some thoughts on these loose cannon bastards Odo allowed on the station.

Callahan slipped past him and inspected the living room without a word.

Garak set the mug on the nearest surface and watched Callahan's rough face swivel around, like a hound on the scent. He knew there was no trace of Charlie to be picked up, but Garak still considered toeing off his shoes to come up behind Callahan. How easy it would be to break his neck or slash him open. Instead, Garak began to unbutton his shirt. The tea seeped in hot and chilled his scales as it cooled.

Before he could get to his bedroom to change, Callahan stepped in uninvited. Garak tensed, still considering how easily he could snap the Terran's neck.

And then Garak remembered if there was any trace of Charlie, it would be in the bedroom.

Garak crossed the living room. He hoped Callahan would simply give up, turn tail and leave. So Garak stood in the doorway and watched Callahan search. 

Callahan seemed intent on finding something, anything to incriminate the Cardassian. Garak’s rage only cemented itself as Callahan tore the sheets off the bed, yanked open the nightstand drawers and shut them just as quickly. The shop mannequin Garak kept in the corner toppled to the floor with a single sweep of Callahan’s arm. 

"I'll have words with Constable Odo about this," Garak hissed.

"I hope to god you do, lizard," Callahan snarled, his face red. 

Callahan stared intently at the ruined bed, eyes narrowed. Garak tried not to hold his breath and instead, went to the closet to get a fresh shirt. When he stripped out of the old one, Callahan huffed. 

Garak sighed and buttoned up his shirt. Without thinking, he glanced at the bed, hoping to catch that single strand of blonde hair lying there. Had Callahan noticed it? Or did it exist at all? Perhaps Callahan simply didn't see it. That had to be it.

Stepping into the living room, Garak found Callahan knelt on the floor. The detective picked up a scrap of green fabric. The previous attempt at Sisko's suit. 

Callahan stared at Garak. "You're going to tell me a goddamn vole did this?"

"But of course. Filthy things. They chew on every fabric they can get." Garak walked over to the table and picked up his mug of tea. No point in it now. Into the reclaimator it went. "They nest with every scrap they can get. If you'd like, I could you get a pet to eat those voles if you're having trouble."

"That won't be necessary." Callahan got to his feet, rubbing the material between his fingers. "Fancy shit."

"I'd advise you stop swearing on the job, Detective."

"Says the lizard--"

Garak glared.

Callahan swallowed. "Says the man who told me to fuck off."

"You don't have a warrant. Now I'm late to open the shop." Garak folded his arms over his chest. "Now, I can call Odo or you can leave on your own."

"I'm going." Callahan pocketed the scrap of fabric and backed away toward the door. "I'm out of your way."

And the detective, to Garak's mild surprise, did leave. But Garak waited a good five minutes before he left, just in case the detective wanted the codes his quarters. 

Honestly, it would be kinder to ask upfront.

* * *

Odo seemed to be terribly burdened as he studied the data padd in his hand. He set it down as Garak walked in.

"If you're here to complain about Detective Callahan, I suggest you take a number," Odo rumbled. 

"I take it he's more loose than you typically like your cannons," Garak replied as he took a seat across from the Changeling.

"Destruction of property, unwarranted searches, breaking and entering, unlawful voyeurism," Odo drawled. "Shall I continue?"

"He's rather fond of anti-Cardassian slurs."

"Discrimination," Odo added. "Perfect."

"I take it you won’t be working with him any further." Garak coyly stared at his hands, the shedding scales and dry skin. "It would be a terrible liability."

"I think, Garak, that's the most accurate assumption you've made." Odo crossed his arms over his chest and smirked in that lipless way.

Garak broke into a smile of his own. "And they say Changelings are unreasonable."

"We're logical," Odo defended. "And the logical thing to do would be to remove Callahan before someone really gets hurt."

"Such a caring police force!"

Odo stared, unblinking. It felt uncanny and very Odo. "I never said it would be a civilian who'd be hurt."

"Devious."

"I trust most Cardassians know self-defense," Odo answered. "And if Callahan wants to provoke a shopkeeper into defending himself, who am I to arrest the shopkeeper?"

"A very wise police force as well." Garak stood. He tilted his head in the way he usually did for negotiations. "Are you sure I can't make you something to wear? Or would you prefer to see what other Bajorans are wearing to Temple services?"

"I don't need to change," Odo huffed, back to his guarded self. 

Garak wondered how many other people saw Odo as fun and wise or if they all thought of him as the sad and lonely Changeling. Quark, surely, knew Odo's better side. 

"Well," Garak said finally, "if you ever need to be fitted for a suit, you know my hours, Odo."

"Thank you Garak."

And somehow, when Garak left, the Constable seemed a little less burdened.

* * *

The shop was deathly quiet aside from some mending here and there and sales of quick things off the rack. Dates were popular, as were the damages associated with them.

As he closed for the day, Garak thought if he had to sew another button, he was going to vaporize himself. No muss, no fuss, no more of those tiny stitches.

The commotion on the Promenade drew Garak's attention. He watched as Odo pulled Detective Callahan from Quark's, rougher than necessary for a simple Terran troublemaker. 

And Garak noted he wasn't the only one watching the forced escort. Plenty of Bajorans shook their heads and even the Klingon chef seemed pleased to see Callahan go. And go he did. Odo ushered Callahan along, toward the turbolift as opposed to the Constable's office.

So it seemed Callahan would really be gone, thrown on the first transport back to Terra as soon as the Constable could manage.

"Good riddance to bad rubbish."

It was a sentiment Garak couldn't agree with more, liberation sliding thick down his throat to pool warmly in the cold pit of his stomach.

* * *

The headline the next morning read, “San Francisco Detective Barred From Station Following Disorderly Investigation.” It pleased Garak to see Jake's byline. Captain Sisko’s son was a terribly intelligent young man with a taste for justice. Just like his father.

Garak read the article slowly, sipping his raktajino and enjoying the day off.


	11. Chapter 11

In hindsight, a day off shouldn’t have meant a night spent drinking and reading more Orwell with the express purpose of getting himself angry all over again.

Garak felt just the slightest tinge hungover, a dull ache in his temples as he extracted himself from the warmth of his sheets. He wondered when he’d moved from the couch to the bed. But the day's rest did him so much good despite the hangover. He took a light painkiller and showered. 

As the sonic shower hummed, he let himself think. Charlie would need to be turned over to Pythas and the Order. It was inevitable. And it would gain Garak favour with the Order. He'd need all the favours he could rack up. He had been counting on them more than normal.

So he resolved not to use any more favours until Charlie was made into an agent. No sense in draining a low well in anticipation of rain.

Garak wondered if Pythas was comfortable with his cushy job of handing out tasks and micromanaging. Hopefully it drove the old bastard up a wall to be so restricted. No social life (aside from appearances), every meal scheduled and planned down to the moment, always in the crosshairs of the press, and always under attack from unseen and bitter enemies.

For the briefest moment, Garak thanked Tain for the exile. 

Shower off, Garak stepped out of the bedroom to dress. Lavender today, with black trim. Stylish, but played on the idea of harmless, in no way an ex-Order agent on his way to work. No association with the idea of grooming fresh blood.

Something more than just a hangover ached but Garak refused it, buried the feeling down somewhere in the dark of himself.

And then he went to work.

* * *

Charlie seated himself on the counter when Garak walked in, the Augment swung his long, lean legs childishly. He perked up when he saw Garak. "Miss me?"

Garak licked his lips and caught the faintest taste of Augment, of Charlie. But he didn't say anything. 

"Oh, all pent up, hmm?" Charlie pushed off the counter, landing before Garak, and the Augment sank to his knees. "Let's get that taken care of."

"We can't keep doing this."

"What?" Charlie's hands left Garak's fly to grasp the Cardassian's hips. The unadulterated glee dropped off into melancholy.

"It's only going to hurt you when I turn you over to the Order," Garak explained. He pried Charlie's hands off his hips and walked past the Augment to get to work. 

"I thought—"

"You thought I wouldn't drop you off like a lost puppy at the pound?" Garak narrowed his eyes. "I told you. You'll be safer as an Order agent. No more being hunted and you can kill all you want."

Charlie shifted his weight, sat with his legs crossed on the floor, and stared up at Garak. He kept moving his mouth, as if he wanted to say something, but couldn't form the words.

"I can't have you following me around like a dog." Garak scrolled through his padd of designs. "I have work and a life that was fine long before you got here. And I intend to go right back to it after you're gone."

Charlie closed his mouth. Garak expected anger, that Augment entitlement. Instead, Charlie got up. Without a word, Charlie went to the backroom, lingering for a moment on the threshold.

"I thought you loved me," Charlie whispered.

"I couldn't love you," Garak snapped. "I never loved you. You’re a way to ingratiate me to the Order again."

Charlie stepped into the backroom and the door slid shut. Garak heard the metal scraping. He'd need to get that panel fixed at some point. 

He sighed and looked at his work, his plans. It would be so easy to turn Charlie over and then go back to his sewing. His biggest concern could be which buttons to order or how many bolts of **Diné** wool to keep in his stockroom.

Garak decided to get to work on summer clothes. Light, airy fabrics and sheer covers for anyone considering going to Risa. 

Without thinking, he selected electric blue fabric, barely more than a whisper of cloth. He measured twice and cut once. It needed to be sewn by hand, lest the fabric come apart, so Garak stabbed the needle through in infinite tenderness. 

"Garak?"

"Julian," Garak greeted, tying off the stitch. 

"Ready for lunch?" Julian rocked back and forth, hands behind his back. Guilt. No doubt Julian saw the declined request for a runabout. "I thought we could discuss serial poets."

"Right." Garak smiled brightly at the doctor. "How did you enjoy Iloja of Prim?"

"I enjoyed it terribly," Julian admitted as he offered a hand to Garak. Julian’s fingers lingered on Garak’s wrist, taking his pulse. "I've heard good things about the Replimat's tiramisu today."

"Then let's go have lunch."

* * *

He slept fitfully. The bed was too cold, too wide for Garak to get comfortable in. Sure he could turn up the heat, but it wouldn’t be the same. And adding another blanket didn't give the same lull as another heartbeat. 

So he laid awake and stared at the ceiling in the dim lighting. He could make out every support, every bolt. He knew them by heart. 

Without thinking, he tasted the air and hoped for that last bit of Charlie. 

He sat up, reminded of the Seagram's that always seemed to be taking up space in the freezer. Garak untangled himself from the sheets, left the bedroom, and went to the freezer and found the bottle was the only thing inside. 

The bottle of Seagram's had a thin layer of frost laced on the glass. Garak wiped it off of the label to take in Charlie's favourite poison. Garak unscrewed the cap and took a swig. 

When Garak turned to the living room, intent on staggering to the sofa to drink Seagram's alone until he drifted to sleep, he saw a figure in the middle of the room. Though the Seagram's burned out everything, Garak still caught that taste-scent of Augment, the chemicals inherent in Charlie's genetic code. 

"Charlie."

"You're fucking him."

Garak sipped from the bottle. Then it hit him. Julian, the lunch they'd shared, the grins at the more lewd passages of poetry. And all this time he'd silently chided Charlie for being so easily watched.

"Charlie."

"No. You don't love me. I know." 

Garak stumbled through the dark until he found the sofa. He sank down on it, as comfortable as he could get while he argued in the low lights of the living room with an Augment. Something crept up Garak's spine at the thought of Charlie killing him. It wasn't wholly unpleasant. 

"You have a life to get back to." Charlie toed some unseen dust on the carpet. "You've got that Augment doctor you're fucking."

"I haven't bedded him yet."

"But you're going to."

Garak took a sip of whiskey and let it burn him. He couldn't deny Julian was attractive. The silent drink of cheap liquor seemed to do the talking.

Charlie turned and left through the front door. Garak, in a clouded moment, wondered what he'd do with Charlie's things, all the left-behind trinkets.

And then he remembered Charlie hadn't left anything for Callahan to find. It was as if they'd never shared a space, never spent lazy mornings watching each other. And Garak ached.

The whiskey tasted exactly like a two-slip bottle should. But Garak took another pull. Then another. And he felt able to sleep again. He screwed the cap back on and put the whiskey back in the freezer. 

He returned to bed, nestled safely in his blankets and yet so vulnerable. Garak wondered who in the hell taught Charlie Davis to keep his booze in the freezer before he slipped into an alcohol-laden sleep.

* * *

His alarm pulled Garak out of his sleep and he groaned before mumbling, "Computer, turn the alarm off."

The chiming stopped, but the ringing in his head remained. Hangover. Again.

He got up, curious if he'd imagined the previous night's conversation. Garak stumbled out of the bedroom and to the freezer. He held his breath, just for a moment, unsure if he wanted to know.

He opened the freezer.

No bottle of Seagram's.

Garak closed the freezer. He replicated the strongest raktajino he could and drank it as if his life depended on it.


	12. Chapter 12

Garak spent the evening drinking at Quark's, sipping the Ferengi's attempt at Cardassian fusion cocktails for "market research." It was better than drinking alone in his quarters. If he was honest, half the drinks had come out terrible, but the booze was cheap. 

"So what's the deal?" Quark asked, wiping a glass. "You and your new beau broke things off and now you're drinking to forget?"

"Not at all." Garak sipped the lime green drink before him and cringed. "Too heavy on the alcohol, even for my tastes."

Quark replaced it with with a darker green drink. "Garak, it's my job to know." 

Garak raised a brow-ridge. He sipped the drink. Consumable, though not exactly palatable. "Still a bit harsh."

Quark rolled his eyes. "You two weren't exactly subtle. Y'know, with the screaming. Half the habitat ring could hear you."

"And yet the Constable hasn't presented me with any noise complaints." Garak took a pointed sip of the dark green fluid. Still drinkable. Still not something he'd order. 

Quark huffed and gestured to his ears. "Hello?"

Garak answered, "You're almost as bad."

"As your boy toy?" Quark cleared a drink that hadn't been touched for the better part of half an hour. "You know he reserved a racy program tonight, right? Should be over right about...now."

Turning in his seat, Garak watched Charlie come down the spiral staircase, lit by the usual dim scarlet glow caught in all his curls and dabo lights blinked over him. Garak felt his mouth go dry despite every drop of drink he’d been plied with.

"Now I can see why you're so keen to keep him," Quark muttered. "If things don’t work out, I might steal him." 

Garak tipped the Ferengi more slips than was ever necessary and got up. Mostly, he wanted to avoid the image of Quark and Charlie together. But Garak also wanted desperately to say something, anything to Charlie. 

As he wove through the crowd, Garak chose his words carefully. But nothing seemed right. Maybe it was the liquor. Or maybe it was the shock of seeing the Augment.

"Charlie--Scorpio, wait," Garak called. 

Charlie turned, but only to glare at the Cardassian. "No. Fuck you." 

"Dammit, Charlie!" Garak grabbed the Terran by the wrist. "I'm sorry."

Charlie twisted his wrist out of the Cardassian's grasp, then crossed his arms over his chest. He stared at Garak and said nothing.

Garak swallowed. People passed them by in varying states of drunkenness, some stumbled and some supported by their friends or dates. But it felt like Charlie was the only one who mattered. 

"I was wrong about you, Charlie Davis."

"So you think it gets to go back to how things were?" Charlie asked. "You think it's all skittles and beer because you said sorry? You told me you couldn’t love me."

Garak couldn't help it and needed to ground himself in Charlie's scent. It was clouded by other species, but there was also that unmistakable musk. Garak felt that thing race along his spine and pool in his belly. It went beyond lust. 

"I wish it could be, Charlie." Garak reached out, but he only touched empty air as the Augment took a step back. 

Charlie tossed his blonde curls as he laughed. Then he slipped into the crowd, easy as a fish in water.

* * *

Garak worked on the summer line until he thought his fingers would bleed. It was the only thing he could think to do. He kept his lunch appointments with Julian, avoided Quark's, read more and drank less. Anything to avoid those thoughts of Charlie.

After all, he was a middle-aged Cardassian. He could survive without a pet. He had before and he’d continue as he always did.

He did consider an actual pet, something like Mila the regnar or perhaps one of the more vicious fighting voles. Maybe he could get the thing to roll over for belly scratches. 

But then he'd always go back to his thoughts of Charlie, wild and rodent-like. And it would be back to his work, sewing and watching his feeds since he planted a couple of new bugs in the derelict portion of the station. He wondered if it was wrong, if he was as bad as Callahan and the Institute for watching as Charlie slept and ate alone. 

Still, it helped pass the time while he prepared the summer line. And in three days, he had enough for the season.

* * *

Garak spent the days trying to think of a way to reconcile with Charlie. As he dressed the shop mannequins, he rehearsed the apology. As he folded clothes and laid them out, he rebuked everything and imagined it in Charlie's voice.

In the end, Charlie came to Garak's door. 

Before Garak could think, Charlie kissed him, the same cheap Seagram's and artificial cherry taste the Cardassian was used to. 

"Charlie."

Charlie's teeth caught Garak's lips and bruised as Charlie bit down. Garak hissed. Charlie's hands went to Garak's waist and guided the Cardassian backward until Garak sank down in the armchair.

Leaning in, Charlie bit the ridges on Garak's neck. Garak leaned back and pulled Charlie close. 

"Fuck the bed," Charlie muttered. 

Garak said nothing, but pushed the vest from Charlie's shoulders. Charlie sucked at Garak's throat and left a bruise. The Augment tore at Garak's clothes, just enough for sex. Garak stifled all his complaints. The clothes could be mended. Charlie and their relationship came first.

He fixated on Charlie. How powerful the Augment was as he pressed his erect cock against Garak's wet slit. It was all Garak needed to evert, his cock dripping.

"Always love that," Charlie murmured. "Always a surprise."

"Get used to it," Garak hissed. "Stick around and you'll have one just like it."

"And I'll spend the whole day jerking off." Charlie laughed as he fisted his cock.

"Do you think of anything besides sex?" Garak made himself more comfortable in the armchair.

"Sure. Booze, food, you."

"How romantic."

Charlie grinned sheepishly. "I try."

"You really don't." Garak craned his neck and, between his teeth, held Charlie's lower lip. 

Charlie moaned as the Cardassian drew blood. Garak pulled away and watched Charlie's pupils dilate in the dim lights, blue swallowed into that black void. 

For an instant, Garak wondered if Charlie would ever have his own proper Cardassian musk.

For now, he still had the taste-scent of Terran warmth, Augment alkalinity, delicious arousal. Tongue pressed to that reptilian organ in his mouth, Garak savoured Charlie.

"Why do you do that?" 

Garak raised a brow-ridge. "Do what?"

"That tongue thing." Charlie pulled Garak's hips closer, grinding against the Cardassian's ajan. "You're like a goddamn rattlesnake."

"It's the same concept, roughly." Garak reached down to guide Charlie's cock inside. Garak hissed, "Taste and scent and heat."

"Heat-seeking," Charlie teased. The Augment trembled all over with restraint. "Sneaky."

Garak sunk his teeth down into Charlie's lip again, drawing fresh blood before Garak let him go. "No more talking."

Charlie hummed in agreement and jerked his hips. Garak could tell the Augment was wound up, too stressed and in need of relief. Garak pulled him closer and wondered however Charlie was supposed to survive in captivity. 

Obsessed, Garak marveled at Charlie's body, the lean muscle and constellations of freckles. He ran fingers over every inch of skin he could reach, determined to memorize Charlie as he was now: Terran and smooth and sinfully handsome. Garak worried, in the depths of his mind, that he might not find Charlie attractive as a Cardassian.

But Charlie seemed determined to fuck that thought right out of Garak's head; each thrust was quick, fast, intended to make one of them cum. 

Charlie came first, his warmth filled Garak. He panted, head hung as if ashamed. But Garak knew Charlie was living pride. 

"Already?" Garak leaned up to kiss Charlie. "I assume you'll want a moment before we go again?"

"Of course." Charlie leaned in and sucked at Garak's throat, intent to mark the Cardassian’s flushed scales and proclaim ownership.

* * *

The bed, Charlie decided, could do with some homemaking. Garak only envied his stamina and considered, for the briefest moment, a minor genetic augmentation himself. 

Once they'd finished, showered, and settled into bed, Charlie went right to sleep. Deep and tender sleep, not the hunted sleep of a fugitive.

Garak reached over and ran his fingers lightly down Charlie's spine. The blonde didn't so much as twitch. Garak tried to imagine his lips grey and then turned over to stare up at the ceiling again. It was nice, this rapid falling into place, but Garak still worried about Charlie. He wouldn’t survive in the Institute and he’d be a solitary-bound prisoner. 

Cardassia was still the only place to keep him. The Order would accept Charlie as he came.

Garak found he slept better when he could borrow some of Charlie’s constant heat. It was like a personal basking rock. Garak kissed Charlie’s jaw and thought his hair was shimmering sunbeams woven into gold

* * *

Major Kira stormed into the shop and Garak thought she looked thoroughly displeased. She usually did around Cardassians, but this was a different sort of scowl, one tinged with disappointment.

"What can I do for you, Major?" Garak asked, hands clearly visible and clasped in front of him.

"That request for a runabout got approved," she answered curtly. Major Kira leaned closer and added, "I don't know what kind of shit you're pulling. A medical condition? It’s almost lazy for you, Garak."

"Between you and me, Major, I'm deathly ill." He kept his face serious, no matter how much he wanted to grin. "I believe I've fallen hopelessly in love."

She scoffed. Garak had to love her standoffish nature, and even her hatred for Cardassians. "I didn't think Cardassians spies were capable of it."

"I have a heart. Just ask Julian. I'm sure you've seen my physicals." And he loved how he could tell her the truth and she would never believe it. It was truly redeeming despite her xenophobia. "He must think I'm a fascinating specimen."

"He thinks you're something alright." Her voice dripped bitterness.

And Garak smiled as the Major left his shop, thankful for everything about Major Kira Nerys.


	13. Chapter 13

Everything had been so carefully prepared. The station couldn't detect any transports from the ore processing centre since Charlie ensured the computers there were totally disabled. That included all sensors, traps, or alarms associated with those computers.

There would be a trace, but Garak felt certain Sisko's senior staff wouldn't be able to detect it until it was too late.

Captain Sisko walked Garak to the docking ring. Garak's bag was packed, just enough for the trip and to stay close while Charlie recovered. And Sisko had no idea.

"Garak," Captain Sisko said in that low, paternal voice, "I'm trusting you. And I hope you come back healthy. It would be a shame if we lost our only tailour."

"I'm not the only tailour," Garak corrected. "And it's so strange to be trusted, but I promise I won't commit a single act of terrorism. Anti-Bajoran or otherwise."

"And espionage?"

"A mild hobby."

Captain Sisko broke into a wide smile, one that matched Garak tooth for tooth.

* * *

Garak exhaled as he transported Charlie onto the runabout. No alarms went off on the station, no one contacted him immediately. And yet something felt wrong. 

"Jesus," Charlie grumbled. "I'm never going to get used to that shit."

"Transporters?"

"I prefer to dock." Charlie crossed the small space and sunk into the chair beside Garak. "A whole ship to ourselves."

"And it'll take four days and sixteen hours until we reach our destination," Garak determined.

"How ever will we pass the time?"

Garak shot Charlie a look, one that instructed the Augment to stop. Charlie replied with an easy and toothy smile. 

"So how'd you get into the Order?" Charlie asked. “You said something about scouting me for fresh blood.”

"My introduction to the Obsidian Order was nothing special. When I was a boy, a certain...ancestor of mine held a high position within the organization." Garak picked his words carefully though he knew Charlie wouldn't bother to hold on to half of them. "I showed promise in my studies and it was decided I would follow in that ancestor's line of work."

“Was there a test or did you need five letters of recommendation or what?"

"A certain Order member and longtime family friend sponsored my education." 

“Sounds posh.” 

“I assure you, Bamarren might cost a steep fine for knowledge, but it’s more practical than anything.”

Charlie shrugged. “College all over again.”

Garak hadn't been aware Charlie was educated. He'd need to amend the Davis file. "I suppose."

And then they lapsed into an easy and agreeable silence.

* * *

The runabout knew its course and Garak didn't need to babysit it. He'd had the foresight to pack the Kotra board and, post-coitus, he and Charlie crowded the bunk to play. 

Charlie, Garak noted, was quite good at Kotra. He made another move, something unexpected and confrontational. Garak paused and hummed in consideration. 

"So...when we get there..."

"Yes?" Garak looked up. 

"You'll keep in touch, right?" Charlie sounded small and scared. "No matter where they send me to finish off some rotten bastard?"

"I'll do my best, Charlie." Garak reached over and cupped Charlie's cheek. "I'm very busy, but I'll make the time for you." 

Charlie leaned in, his lips greeted Garak's, and they forgot entirely whose turn it was.

* * *

At Garak's insistence, they turned off their translators. It seemed such an intimate thing to do, to hear the other speak nonsense and only communicate through gesture and emotion.

Charlie was a surprisingly fast learner. Garak supposed he shouldn't have been quite so shocked. He was an Augment, after all, and the brain structure meant they could adapt to anything and learn languages at breakneck speeds. 

And yet to hear Charlie's grammar improve quite literally overnight made Garak feel so proud.

"I think Cardasi's easier than Terran Standard English," Charlie confided as he lay on Garak's chest. Charlie traced the sturdier ridges of Garak's torso, moving on to the delicate scaling. "Not as tricky."

Garak laughed and ran a hand down Charlie's bare back. There was a raised scar, something so small and insignificant and yet Garak hadn't noticed until now. "It's much trickier than Klingon."

"Shit." Charlie scrunched up his nose. "Do I have to learn that too? I wanted to keep my vocal chords."

"I won't force you to recite poetry," Garak assured the Augment. "It would do you some good to learn enough to understand and read it, though."

"Do you know Romulan?"

"Of course." Garak stared up, past Charlie and at the bunk's frame. "I used to garden for an important Senator."

"Tell me all about it," Charlie begged. "I want to know everywhere you've been."

There was something so sentimental. And yet Garak obliged. He left out Tzen-keth and the Dominion prison. He left out Tain's house aside from a few good memories. And he left out the closet and the dark.

By the time he finished, Charlie had nodded off again, his curls pooled on Garak's chest, silk-soft on his scales. He didn't know why, but Garak brushed a strand of the unruly blonde hair out of Charlie's face, tucked it gingerly behind his ear, and just watched him sleep.

* * *

Charlie, lovely and wild Charlie, rode Garak as the Cardassian sat at the helm. His muscular thighs aside Garak's hip, the Cardassian's cock buried deep in Charlie's tight heat. 

And Garak fumbled with Charlie's button-up before getting it open. He kissed every ounce of flesh he could, biting and sucking as if to consume the Terran's flesh. But he was committing it to memory, marking it to make sure he'd been there.

In nineteen hours and ten minutes, Charlie Davis would no longer exist. 

Garak tried to hide the knowledge of Charlie's new identity from him. He'd have to tell him at some point, go over the finer details of assimilating to Cardassian life.

"Almost," Charlie warned. 

"Cum," Garak ordered. "For me."

Charlie threw his head back and came, spilling pearly seed onto Garak's chest. Garak's fingers dug into Charlie's hips and pulled him down. Charlie's head lolled on his neck until he looked sideways at the Cardassian as Garak came.

For a moment, Garak's post-orgasmic pleasure was interrupted by thoughts of Charlie being neutered like a pet. Garak leaned in and gently kissed one of the darkening bruises over Charlie's ribs.

"Charlie." Even to himself, Garak's voice sounded rough and cracked. "I need to explain something."

Charlie hummed and combed Garak's hair back. "I like the feathery kind of feel. Are they going to give me that too?"

"They're going to do it all." Garak ran fingers up along the curve of Charlie's spine. "And change your name."

"Oh. Neat." 

"Once you come out of that operating theatre, you're going to have a whole new identity."

"That's why you're making me a lizard," Charlie answered.

"Cardassian." Garak traced the teeth marks on Charlie's belly. "I think you'll look good in scales."

"Only one way to find out."

* * *

Three hours to go and Garak knew he would remember every inch of Charlie. The Augment read all the essential poetry and history from Cardassia. They drank kanar and ate zabu. It felt comfortable and safe, like a nest Garak could only vaguely recall in his memory. Or perhaps it was part of the collective memory he intended to add Charlie to.

"Anytime now," Charlie said as he grabbed his clothes from the floor of the helm. Garak had given up on trying to make Charlie wear clothes, especially since they'd just take them off again at the first opportunity. "You'll have to start learning to fuck a Cardassian."

"I know how to fuck a Cardassian perfectly fine," Garak answered, not looking up from the controls. 

The distance between the runabout and the colony decreased. The clock in Garak's mind counted down in nanoseconds. Charlie paced behind Garak, eager and energetic despite all the sex and Kotra and booze. 

The Augment sunk into the chair next to Garak, jaw slack. "I didn't expect it to be so lush. You're desert lizards."

"A little humidity does the scales some good, especially during a shed." Garak guided the runabout in close and found the designated landing zone just fine. It was a stone's throw from the clinic. "Now, let's see what you look like in scales."


	14. Chapter 14

Pythas Lok was late. Garak expected to see the still-new Director of the Obsidian Order on the concrete of the landing zone. He anticipated Pythas’ disapproval through his scarred flesh. These days, Lok seemed to ooze all sorts of disappointment. But he wasn't there.

No matter, Garak thought as he helped Charlie out of the runabout and across the path to the clinic. Pythas was, perhaps, waited inside for the two of them. But as they stepped inside, out of the humid heat of the colony, Garak didn't find Pythas anywhere in the waiting area. 

"Elim?" A doctor asked as she stepped into the room. She glanced at Charlie. 

Garak noted her badge read "Omlal." It couldn't have been her real name, not with the authority she carried. She reeked of secrets and danger. Garak supposed all Order agents did in some way.

Garak said only, "This is him."

Omlal's face was a cool mask of indifference, but her eyes were filled with suspicion. "Yes. I see." 

She nodded and turned to lead them into the back, down the hall. Garak put a hand on the small of Charlie's back. The three stepped into an exam room, empty of anything untoward or Order-related. Charlie seemed surprised by the normalcy of the room.

"She's amazing with her art," Garak assured Charlie. "You'll be fine.”

"You'll be here when I wake up." A command not a question, but Charlie's voice cracked nonetheless. 

Garak cupped Charlie's face. For the first time in their stormy relationship and under the dim lights of the exam room, Garak noticed Charlie's eyes were grey. Not blue.

"Of course." But the lie felt like glass shards on his tongue. "I'll be right here, right where I've always been."

The doctor looked at Garak for approval, her dark eyes narrowed in question. When Garak nodded, she led Charlie to one of the beds and helped him up while she murmured things like "It won't hurt at all, really" and "We can extract the molar while you're under. It's kinder, really."

Charlie stared at Garak, as if seeing the tailor for the first time. It was a confused stare, but clear and incredibly wounded. Garak couldn't stand it and felt his smile breaking, so he left the room.

In the hallway, he tried to catch his breath. Charlie wasn't going to be the naive Terran pet he'd been fucking. But maybe that had never existed after all. 

Cardassian. That was what the Obsidian Order intended to turn Charlie into. Clever and deadly and as close to Garak's own biology as possible.

And it finally hit him. It struck him with such force, Garak thought he was going to be sick. He took a moment to compose himself.

After all, it wouldn't do to have Pythas find him sobbing like a child over a lost toy. It was too sentimental to cling to Charlie, unbefitting conduct of even an ex-member of the Obsidian Order.

* * *

The wait felt agonizing, as most waiting did. Usually, Garak would have some work to catch up on, or read something to read in preparation for his book club lunches with Julian. But he hadn't grabbed anything at all to do and it felt terribly rude to not see Omlal’s handiwork.

So he observed the trickle of staff (honestly, it was such a tiny clinic that Garak struggled to imagine it being a front for the Order) and murmured the snippets of Iloja of Prim he'd read to Charlie.

That doctor with her blue pigment smudged almost obscenely was quite obviously fucking the male receptionist, who had just the smallest trace of blue around his mouth. And her hands lingered just a bit too long on his shoulders for simply passing along patient files.

"Should they censor me, weep not for Mother State, but for Cardassia's illiterate sons."

That doctor by the board with the near incomprehensible handwriting was decidedly an Order agent. Garak could make out the badge tucked in his breast pocket. Bad form. He must be new, Garak thought sourly. 

"And love, like the distant shore, is full of such darkness and danger. Yet I would have it no other way."

And then, aside from speculating about an old man dozing in another chair (and he was obviously waiting on his daughter or granddaughter), there was nothing much to do. Garak leafed through every pamphlet on "What to Expect When Expecting Hatchlings" and read every single poster (even the fine print) about immunizing your offspring.

Garak wondered if Charlie would need those immunizations. Being Terran, it was highly unlikely he'd contract anything Cardassian specific. He'd be a valuable asset indeed.

Garak stopped pacing and settled back in his chair. He closed his eyes to picture Charlie covered in scales and sturdy ridges. 

And at some point he must have dozed off, since Doctor Omlal shook his shoulder gently. Garak startled out of his own doze, prepared to break her wrist before he remembered where he was.

"He's resting quite comfortably," Omlal said as she studied Garak. "You can come see him."

"And the memory wipe?"

"Done."

"Excellent." Garak stood and stretched. "Now tell me, how did such a capable woman end up out here?"

"Not all of us get to choose our assignments, Elim." Omlal crossed her arms as she guided Garak back. 

They passed the room Garak had left Charlie in and turned into a hallway that seemed unused. Clever, Garak thought, to move something so priceless to a place no one would consider looking.

Omlal unlocked a door and Garak stepped inside. Already, Pythas Lok stood by the bed and inspected Omlal's work.

"He had a good face structure to work with," Omlal reported. And then she was gone, the door closed softly behind her.

"She's right," Pythas said. "He does have good bone structure."

Garak crossed the room, more fixated on Charlie. He had to see it. Had to pull the bandage off quick, no matter how much it might sting.

Charlie was Cardassian. His ridges were symmetrical, skin grey, and scales polished to a nice shine. He was handsome. Garak carded fingers through Charlie's black plumage,so different from the silken blonde strands. 

"He's a perfect agent," Pythas interrupted. "Or, he will be. But why now, Elim? Why are you sending me your cast-off love affair?"

"I wanted to protect him," Garak answered. "And I know how you need agents. It's not exactly the Obsidian Enlightenment, is it?"

Pythas pursed his lips and stared at Garak. "It's very...rogue, Elim. I think I understand why Tain sent you away."

"Don't say his name," Garak hissed. "Not here."

Pythas raised a hand in mock surrender. "Sure, Garak. Whatever you want."

"He'll be useful. He's a Terran Augment." 

"I know, Garak. You noted everything perfectly." Pythas' stare roamed. "I see tailouring hasn't dulled you."

Garak glared at Pythas.

"What happened to us, Elim? When did we become enemies?"

"Since...he made you his weapon against me."

"And now your Augment is a species traitor. Funny how you're just like him, Elim." Pythas glanced down at the file. "I'll place him in the advanced courses at Bamarren. He'll thrive, Elim. No need to worry."

"I'll call in the favour soon."

Pythas didn't look up. "And you'll have it."

Garak leaned in and pressed a kiss to Charlie's forehead. He turned and left, his footsteps echoing in the empty corridor. 

* * *

"What do you think ever happened to that Augment?" Julian asked, toying with a silk tie on one of the shop mannequins. 

It was one of those little things that made Garak adore Julian, the Augment's constant need for movement. The elaborately tied knots came undone and then Julian left the silk loose around the mannequin's shoulders.

Garak stared down his at ledger and shrugged. "Perhaps he made it to Risa and died from,oh, what's the term?"

"Accommodations is what they're calling it these days," Julian answered. "And I've never seen anyone be accommodated to death."

"Not yet," Garak said as he glanced up. The Cardassian stepped around the counter and gently moved Julian out of the way, a hand on the doctor's narrow hip. "Perhaps someone will come in, on their deathbed from being so accommodated."

"That'd be overexertion or dehydration or maybe internal bleeding." Julian folded his arms petulantly over his chest. "Not death by accommodation."

Garak smiled to himself. He took the silk in his hands, a nice and deep obsidian shade, and retied all of the knots until the mannequin looked presentable again.


End file.
